


blood is thicker than

by icanhinatashouyoutheworld



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adopted Yurio, Angst, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Child Yuri Plisetsky, Custody Battle, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Slow Burn, Supermodel Victor Nikiforov, lawyer yakov feltsman, single dad yuuri, victor nikiforov was a dad and didn't know he was a dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 12:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10335053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icanhinatashouyoutheworld/pseuds/icanhinatashouyoutheworld
Summary: “You might be Yuri’s biological parent, Mr. Nikiforov. But I’m his father. If Yuri wants to go with you, that’s one thing,” Yuuri Katsuki’s voice flows quiet and dangerous into the room “but if he doesn’t, don’t think that you’re taking my child away from home,”Or: Victor Nikiforov finds out he has a son. He wants full custody.Katsuki Yuuri isn't going to give up his child that easily.Or: Victor and Yuuri fight a custody battle for Yurio. Shit happens.Or: Yuri Plisetsky starts with one parent, and ends up with two.russian translation by @mskslvportuguês brasileiro translationby@ameliacor





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [blood is thicker than](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274252) by [ameliacor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliacor/pseuds/ameliacor)



> wow...I have finished none of my other works <333333333
> 
> but this idea wouldn't stop harassing me so i HAD to write it okay
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!! xxx
> 
> EDIT: have realised that I forgot to check the multichapter box on ao3 lol sorry xxx
> 
> EDIT AGAIN: WOAH OKAY THIS HAS HAD A FAR BETTER RESPONSE THAN I EVER ANTICIPATED  
> you can follow me at on tumblr icanhinatashouyoutheworld for updates if you want? or not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow...I have finished none of my other works <333333333
> 
> but this idea wouldn't stop harassing me so i HAD to write it okay
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!! xxx
> 
> EDIT: have realised that I forgot to check the multichapter box on ao3 lol sorry xxx
> 
> EDIT AGAIN: WOAH OKAY THIS HAS HAD A FAR BETTER RESPONSE THAN I EVER ANTICIPATED  
> you can follow me at on tumblr icanhinatashouyoutheworld for updates if you want? or not?

 

Victor is driving home from a shoot when he gets the news.

His bop to John Lennon is rudely interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He glances at the screen on the dashboard and winces when Yakov’s name flashes up on the screen. 

He presses the wrong button to pick up a couple of times (he only got the Jaguar a couple of weeks ago, okay!) and braces himself for his lawyer’s shouts. What’s he done this time? Signed a sponsorship deal without checking it properly again? He gets that Chanel were pissed, but they still made him the face of their new collection a month later. It all worked out in the end, right?

“Victor,” Yakov says. At a vaguely normal volume. Viktor almost swerves off the road in shock.

“Yakov?” he tries “Is everything alright?”

“Get to my office as fast as you can.” 

Yakov hangs up. Victor puffs. It’s almost eleven at night. He’d been looking forward to an eye mask, American Horror Story and cuddles in bed with Makkachin, but he guesses that will have to wait.

Feltsman & Co was housed in an skyscraper with a weird rounded top which Victor fondly called ‘The Glass Dildo’. It gleamed in the St. Petersburg night, a single light shining at the top of the building. Only Yakov would be crazy enough to still be working at this hour, Victor thinks, ignoring the fact that he’d been working just half an hour ago. 

He tosses a wink at the secretary (she flushes a little) as he is ushered into the weirdly plush lift by a velvet-jacketed concierge.  Yakov said rich people spend more money if they think they’re with other rich people. Victor agrees, but he doesn’t get the need for the velvet lift walls. It’s excessive, even by his standards. 

“You really need to get rid of all the velvet, it’s out of season,” he chimes as he strolls into Yakov’s office. 

Yakov is facing away from him on his leather chair, like he’s the Godfather or something. Victor grins and opens his mouth to tell him this, before Yakov spins around. The look on his face cuts him off. Victor sits down quickly, tapping his fingers on the glossy desk that separates them. Yakov unclenches his fist, revealing a crumpled ball of paper.

“Read this,” Yakov says hoarsely, pushing it towards him.

Victor smooths out the paper and does just that.

__________________________

_ Dear Mr. Feltsman, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. You do not know me, but I know you. Or rather, I know you through Victor. _

_ In fact, Victor probably doesn’t remember me either. The night we spent together was short, after all, and we were both drunk out of our minds. But I haven’t forgotten it since, for more reasons than one.  _

_ Victor left me without saying goodbye the morning after. I wasn’t upset. He’s a busy man, after all. Some part of me thought I might have been special, but then those pictures of him with that Tahitian model came out a week later, and I remembered that Victor is a celebrity and I was Nobody to him.  _

_ So I carried on, only boasting to a couple of my close friends about sleeping with a supermodel, satisfied with seeing his pictures in magazines.  More time passed. I began feeling ill. On a base level, I knew what happened. The doctor’s visit only confirmed my thoughts. _

_ I was pregnant, Mr. Feltsman, and it was Victor’s child.  _

_ I couldn’t get rid of it, Mr. Feltsman. I went to the clinic and stumbled straight out again, sobbing. But I couldn’t afford to keep this child. I was a nursing student at the time. I could barely afford to feed myself, let alone a child. I couldn’t afford to get Victor to pay his share either. Besides, who would believe a girl without two rubles to rub together over an internationally loved celebrity? _ 

 _ I gave birth on the first of March 2010 at home with a friend who was training as a midwife.  _ 

_ I named him and left him at the closest orphanage. St. Michael’s, in St. Petersburg. _

_ He had Victor’s eyes. Icy blue, big and wide and curious. He looks like me though, I think.  _

_ I had called him Yuri Plisetsky. Maybe his name’s changed by now.  _

_ So why have I waited seven years to tell you about Victor’s son, Mr. Feltsman? The reason is simple.  _ 

_ I’m dying, Mr. Feltsman. By the time you receive this letter, I will already be dead. I was planning to find Yuri, explain myself to him when he turns eight. By the time he turns eight, I would have passed on. I don’t know if he’s been adopted. That orphanage is overcrowded as it is. He might have nobody, Mr. Feltsman. _

_  This is not a demand. This is a plea. _ 

_ Please, Victor. Find your son and take him home. Show him all the love I never could. Tell him I’m sorry.  _

_ Yours Faithfully, _

_ Yekaterina Plisetskaya _

__________________________

Victor sets the letter down with trembling hands. 

He has a child. He is a father. 

He has a child, who is alone, who probably thinks neither of his parents wanted him.

His eyes meet Yakov’s. 

“Have you found him?” he rasps, digging his nails into his palms.

“Not yet. I’ve got people working on it,” Yakov replies, frowning at him “you want to meet him, then?”

“I don’t want to meet him, Yakov. I want him, full stop.” Victor stares hard at his reflection in the desk. He tries to imagine the child, his child, Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri Nikiforov, in the future. But he can’t for the life of him remember a girl named Katya from seven years ago. His career had just bloomed then, a shoot with Burberry blowing up, plastering his face across billboards and magazines. 

He looks up to see Yakov looking incredulously at him. 

“Victor,” he says finally “Victor, you can barely look after yourself and your dog, let alone a child,” 

“That’s not true!” 

“You’re constantly travelling, too. How do you expect to raise another human being?!” Yakov’s voice is getting louder and louder. Victor feels anger bubble under his skin, curl in his muscles.

“I’ll work it out! I’ll work it out, Yakov. But he might be alone, and I can’t stand that,” Victor grits out. 

Yakov looks at him again. He puffs and turns to his computer, muttering about bratty supermodels raising his blood pressure.

Victor smiles, a little.

  

His sleep is fitful, filled with small, crying children with blue eyes and silver locks, brown curls, blonde fringes.

_“Papa,"_ they wail, reaching chubby hands for him, faces smeared with dirt, shivering with cold _“Papa!”_

 Makkachin senses his mood and whines, snuggling into his side. Victor pats his head absently, staring at his phone. He’d been too distracted at the shoot today. His head was awkward, his back was stiff, his eyes were somewhere else entirely. Christophe Giacometti, the cameraman regarded as a genius by the fashion world, had lowered his Canon and simply pointed his finger at a taxi.

Victor got the message, walking off set to the melody of hushed whispers from the crew. 

He sat, mind thrumming like an overheated car engine. Would they find him? Would they find him? He's found himself staring at young children in the street, on kids' clothing websites. What size would he be? What's his favourite colour? 

He gets the second phone call as he pours himself a bowl of granola for dinner. 

Victor drops the milk and races out of his flat.

______________________________________________

Yakov’s waiting outside in his Bentley. Victor flings himself into the front seat, almost slamming the door shut on his own foot in his haste.

“Where is he?!” Victor pants. _Where’s my son?_ his mind says.

“He’s been adopted,” Yakov says as they shoot into the night, weaving through traffic, ignoring blaring horns and angry shouts. Yakov’s one of the best lawyers in the business, he hasn't had a traffic charge since he defended some big politician's son. The man had got drunk and smashed up his ex's car. Yakov twisted the plot into a heartbroken man desperately clinging onto the memory of a heartless lover. It'd worked.

Victor’s heart leaps into his throat, beats there, once, twice, a hundred times.

“What? By who?!” 

“We’re about to find out,” Yakov says, clearly ending the conversation there, turning the radio up. Victor has a million questions.Yakov’s forehead vein looks like it’s actually going to burst out of its head. “But I just- who?!” 

“I don’t know, Victor! I had to bend a hell of a lot of rules and pay a lot of people to get the bloody address. I know as little as you do!” Yakov roars. The vein looks like it’s going to give birth. Yakov stamps on the accelerator.

They’re ten, twenty, thirty kilometres over the speed limit, but they could never move fast enough.

 

They’re in the dodgy part of St. Petersburg. Victor shudders to imagine his poor, defenceless son growing up here, among all the gangs and ruffians and pickpocketers. The minute they get to wherever they’re going, Victor’s going to whisk him away to his penthouse. He can take the bedroom. Victor will sleep on the couch.  

They stop outside a ugly apartment block. “Flat 44,” Yakov says lowly, and they’re both rushing out the car. 

The entrance is dingy and depressing and smells like cigarette smoke. There is graffiti on the walls. Victor is getting more furious by the minute. His child, _his child_.

The lift is broken. Victor leaps up the stairs, Yakov far behind him. Numbers flash by. Flat 12, 27, 32. They reach the fourth floor. 44. 44.  

Victor knocks hard on the door, presses the bell over and over again.

The door swings open. “Yuri Plisetsky! I’m here for Yuri Plisetsky,” Victor half-yells. 

A short foreign man stares at him, frown marring his forehead. Oh, Victor flails. Maybe Yakov has the wrong place? “Um, Yuri Plisetsky? I am here to meet with him?” he tries in English. Shit, this guy looks East Asian. What if he-

“Sorry, what?” the man replies in slightly accented but perfect Russian, nudging his glasses up his nose. He’s cute, part of Victor thinks, which he shuts up immediately.

“I’m- Yuri Plisetsky. Does he live here?” Victor rushes out.

“Yes, he does, I’m his fathe-“

“I’m his father,” says Victor.

The man stares at him.

Yakov puffs up the stairs.

“You better come in,” the man says, and holds the door open “take your shoes off at the door,"

__________________________ 

The flat is warm.

Not just in temperature. It’s painted a gentle shade of peach. There are fairy lights strung up across the walls, spilling puddles of yellow across the room, a flood of cushions on the couch, a fluffy rug under their feet. Yakov and Victor are sitting on a twin pair of armchairs, but Victor can't keep still. Everywhere, everywhere there are pictures. Pictures of lots of things, people, places. A dog, Paris, a young woman smoking a cigarette, London, a grinning brown man, an old couple. But mostly of a blond boy with blue eyes. 

Yuri. He knows this is Yuri, can feel it in his gut.  

A photograph is placed in his hands. It’s a portrait shot. Yuri’s got a gold medal around his neck, is looking away from the camera. Victor drinks in the ocean blue of his eyes, the fall of golden hair, the paleness of his skin. He’s beautiful, cherubic, like a china doll. Victor swallows around a wad in his throat.

 He looks up to see the man smiling softly at him. His eyes are warmer than the flat, brown and wonderfully, wonderfully kind.

“That was his first ice skating competition,” the man says, putting a mug that smelled of something orange-y on the table next to him, handing one to Yakov too. He perches on the couch. “He beat everyone else straight out of the water. It was a little inter-rink thing, nothing major, but Yura’s the competitive type. Silver is first loser, according to him,” 

Victor opens his mouth. Yakov beats him to the cut. 

“Who are you?” he asks, not unkindly.

“My name is Yuuri Katsuki,” he says, “and yourselves?” Victor raises his eyebrows at the coincidence.

“Yakov Feltsman. Barrister and partner with Feltsman & Co. This is Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky’s biological fath-,” Yakov starts, before Victor interrupts. 

“How long has Yuri been- how long have you-“ he chokes on his words. 

“Yuri’s been with me since he was four. I took him in when I was eighteen,” 

“Eighteen?! Why did they let you adopt him?” Yakov barks out.

“Yura was…to put it plainly, a bit of a problem kid. He comes off wrong, is all. He didn’t really understand how to express himself, and got into a lot of fights with the other kids. To be honest, they were raring to get rid of him,” Yuuri chuckles a little, but there’s a note of sadness in it.

“And you- you just-“ 

“It’s a long story,” Yuuri sighs “I was fresh into my first ballet company at the time. It was tricky, but we made it work,” He gestures at the wall behind Victor, who snaps his head round. There’s a large photograph of a younger Yuuri in the kitchen. He’s in a leotard and ballet slippers stirring something in a pot, Yuri on his hip, his hair spun gold on Yuuri’s shoulder. It’s heartbreakingly domestic.  

“You’re a dancer?” Yakov murmurs, leaning forward. Victor can almost see the cogs whirring in his head, the case forming in his mind. _Foreign, unstable profession, unreliable pay, young, bad area-_

“At the Mariinsky,” Yuuri says, and Victor’s jaw drops. This was no ordinary dancer. The Mariinsky is the Vogue of the ballet world. Only the world’s best dance there- he’d met a few ballerinas from there himself, all thin wrists and sharp smiles and the well-worn eyes of warriors, of those who had clawed their way from the bottom to the top.

Yuuri Katsuki does not seem like them. He seems soft and warm. He seems…like a pushover. He seems like Victor can end this custody battle with a bit of intimidation and a promise of a better flat and a new car.

“Well,” Yakov says quickly “Victor is-“

“I’m Yuri’s biological father. Thank you for looking after him until now, but I want full custo-.” Victor interrupts. He's tempted to reach for his wallet. _What kind of car do you want?_ He was going to ask.  

Yuuri places his cup firmly on the table. It sounds like the thump of a gavel in the room.

“You might be Yuri’s biological parent, Mr. Nikiforov. But I’m his father. If Yuri wants to go with you, that’s one thing,” Yuuri Katsuki’s voice flows quiet and dangerous into the room “but if he doesn’t, don’t think that you’re taking my child away from home,”

His eyes flash behind his glasses, the burn of someone who’d dug themselves out of their own grave with their bare hands searing Victor’s skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is some BEAUTIFUL art by @taritangeo on tumblr!!! [yuuri carrying yuri I'm still in TEARS](http://taritangeo.tumblr.com/post/159845263459/fanart-for-blood-is-thicker-than-by)
> 
> [more LOVELY ART](https://shipsahoylove.tumblr.com/post/159394866190/for-the-fantastic-custody-showdown-fic-blood-is) BY @shipsahoylove ALSO ON TUNGL


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OKAY I WASNT EXPECTING THE REACTION THIS FIC GOT HOLY SMOKES  
> so I banged out a chapter in three days i hhope y'all like it  
> just a cw there is a description of a panic attack in this :(

 

There is silence after Yuuri’s statement. It almost echoes through the room. 

Victor stares at Yuuri. Yuuri stares right back.

Finally, Yakov speaks. “What makes you think, Mr. Katsuki, that you can win a court case?” he growls softly “There’s no point fighting. I’m the best lawyer in St.Petersburg. Victor’s got the biggest bank account in this city. It’s a match made in heaven. You, on the other hand…” he gestures at the tiny flat, at the window, which is spewing drunken curses from the cheap bar opposite. 

Yakov opens his briefcase, pulls out a wad of paper. 

“If you signed an agreement to hand over custody of the child, I’m sure we could work something out. Perhaps Victor would even let you see him once or twi-“

“Mr. Feltsman, finish that sentence and you’ll be out of this house,” Yuuri grits out, cold, hard, terrifying, a sharp flash of teeth, a gun to the head.

“Oh really? Tell me, Mr. Katsuki. How do you plan to fight? Sell your shitty apartment? Dance for the jury?” Yakov stands up “I’ll be taking my leave. Thank you for the tea. Victor, come,”

Yakov clumps out the flat, shutting door with a click like cocking a rifle.

Yuuri’s hands tighten on the arm of the sofa. 

“Where is he?” Victor says quietly, like he’s been bursting to all night.

“His first sleepover,” Yuuri replies, a hint of worry in his voice. Victor curses the heavens.

“Take me to him? Please?” He’s inches away from throwing himself at the other man’s feet. He’s so close, so close.

“He’s been looking forward to this for months. If you ask for him now, he’ll pretty much hate you instantly,” Yuuri says firmly. Victor frowns, puckering up his mouth like a baby. Yuuri snorts at the sight. He seems a little more comfortable now Yakov’s left, Victor thinks. 

“Look, Yuuri,” Victor tries, putting his best do-what-I-want-you-to-do face “I know you think you’re his dad. But you’re not. I am. Doesn’t he deserve to be with the person who made him? Like Yakov said, I’d still let you see him. So what’s the problem?"

Yuuri smiles.

“Oh, Mr. Nikiforov. You’re just as dumb as the magazines say you are,” he says lightly “your white-haired guard dog must be waiting. Please, don’t let me keep you from him,”

Victor narrows his eyes. “What the f-

“Leave!” Yuuri spits.

 

Victor meets Yakov outside the apartment block. He’s tapping away furiously on his phone, cigarette hanging loosely from his lip.

“Yakov,” Victor rasps out.

“Already on it,” the man says gruffly. 

Victor lets his heart calm down a little, lets relief cloud his head. Yuri’s as good as his.

 

The minute the silver haired man slams out of his home, Yuuri puts his head between his knees and screams.

Once, twice, three times, until his voice is a ghost.

His hand shake. Sweat trickles down his forehead. _My baby, my baby, my baby._  

Victor Nikiforov wants to take his son. He probably can.

Yuuri can’t afford a lawyer. Between Yuuri’s dance equipment and paying his student loans and Yuri’s skating lessons and the organic food he insists on buying because no way is he feeding his child the processed, carcinogenic shit that corporate churns out, his salary is being devoured. Yuri’s growing quickly, needs new clothes all the time. They’re running dry. Yuuri’s gone without food more than once so Yuri can eat more, can never say he’s gone hungry. Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, his sunshine, his universe, his reason for breathing. 

This man, with his designer shoes and designer t shirt (which Yuuri could probably afford if he sold all his organs on the black market) and designer fucking rich-kid smirk as he asked for Yuri has enough money to hire the best lawyer in the city.

He doesn’t know what to do.

_ He doesn’t know what to do. _

A year or two ago, perhaps he would have conceded. They were living in an even smaller apartment with three other people. Yuri was being teased about his second hand shoes and too-big shirts, Yuuri knew, no matter how much his wonderful, brave boy denied it. Yuuri muffled his sobs into his fist as he watched the rise and fall of his son’s prominent ribcage at night, the moonlight making him glow like a nymph, a creature of the night. 

God, Yuri. He spat fire at everyone but those he loved, and even then he was awkward and brash but had a hidden maturity and gentleness beyond his years, especially with Yuuri. Back then, he ached for something more for his boy.

But Yuuri knows now. Knows that Yuri needs him, is scared of being left alone. Would think of living with this idiot celebrity as abandonment. 

Yuuri does the only thing he can do. 

“Phichit? I need your help,”

_________________________

 

**OOH BABY, BABY! SUPERMODEL VICTOR’S LONG LOST CHILD** (posted at 01:34)

 

Russia’s notorious playboy Victor Nikiforov has reportedly discovered he has a son! Who’s shocked? Not us! Seen with a different woman (or man!) every week, Victor was bound to knock someone up sooner or later. What is shocking, however, is that sources close to Victor have revealed he wants to keep the child. “Victor’s a very sensitive, loving man. He wants to raise his kid himself,” a source close to Nikiforov has told NOUS!- click to continue

Victor nods happily at his phone screen. Yakov’s a quick worker. 

__________________________

Phichit comes crashing in less than an hour later.

He takes one look at Yuuri and flings his arms around him.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers into Yuuri’s hair “it’ll all be okay,”

“What am I going to do, Phichit?” Yuuri croaks into Phichit’s neck. He smells like apple cake.  “He’s a millionaire and I can just about afford to live like _this_ ,” 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit grins “times have changed. You’ve got someone on your side that has as much power as he does,”

Yuuri sits up straight at that, peers at Phichit disbelievingly through his fogged up glasses. 

“Who?”

Phichit flings out his arms dramatically.

“Moi, of course,” he winks.

“I don’t under-“

“The power of social media is a beautiful thing, Yuuri! Unprecedented! What brings people and causes together more than 140 characters of pure outrage?!” 

“A massive bank account?” Yuuri deadpans.

“No, no, no! What we have to do is get your side of the story out there properly, before Nikiforov can. For that, we need a proper platform. I’ve basically got as many followers as Nikiforov- and Leo’s got more! In fact, I’m pretty sure that Guang-Hong was nominated for Weibo King. If we get our side out before he goes and has some swanky interview, we stir up enough fury,” Phichit finishes. 

“You want to sic all your blogger friends on him?”  Yuuri frowns “Can that work?”

“Look, Yuuri. I know you’re basically a 60 year old trapped in a 22 year old’s body, but yes. Yes it can. And it will,”  Phichit’s confident smile soothes Yuuri’s raw nerves a little.

Yuuri breathes shakily. Nods his head quickly, bottom lip still trembling.

“I know you hate attention, Yuuri,” Phichit says gently, squeezing Yuuri’s hand a little “but to be honest, this is the only thing we _can_ do,”

 “Let me speak to Yura first, though,” he replies softly.

Phichit squeezes harder. “Of course,” 

__________________________

 

Yuuri bundles himself up to go get Yuri the next morning. St. Petersburg is cold. All of Russia is cold, all the bloody time. He can’t wait until he saves enough to take Yuri to Japan, to show him the buttery heat of Japanese summers, the air thick in your throat. That might be in ten years. Or twenty. 

_ You might not be able to. _

_Shut up, me_ , Yuuri thinks, shaking his head frantically. It earns him more stares than being a foreigner normally does. He had slept after Phichit forced some Restoril down him, along with some dried banana. He’s spent the past hour trying to work out how to tell Yuri. Phichit’s sure Victor won’t name Yuri yet, and he doesn’t have any pictures. They have time.

To be honest, even though he knows Yuri better than he knows himself, he’s not sure how to break the news. 

“Papa!” 

Yuuri stops short, realises he’s managed to walk to the Atlins’ house without paying any attention. He tries to smile at the little pale face pressed against the upstairs window. He raps on the door, braces his face.

“Oh, Yuuri!” Hanym Atlin cries, pinches his cheeks hard “you look much too skinny, my dear! Are you eating enough? I always say that they overwork you in that bloody dance company, you should just come stay here. Mama Atlin will feed you up!” 

“Hi, Hanym,” Yuuri says. She frowns, lowers her hands. Yuuri feels the blood rush back into his face.

“Are you okay?” 

Hanym Atlin is old. Her knees creak and her back cracks. The skin on her hands will never be soft again, battered after a life of hard labour. She is struggling to raise her grandson as much as Yuuri is his child. Yet there is an untameable zest for life in her hazel eyes, which see everything, know everything.

“Kind of,” Yuuri lies. There is no point, of course. 

There is a loud thud. Yuuri turns to see his son burst into the room. His hair is tied up messily and his cheeks are red and his eyes are sparkling. He throws himself around Yuuri’s knees, clings on tight. Yuuri’s heart seizes. My little boy, he wants to sob. 

“Papa, I had a really good time,” Yuri grins up at him. 

“I’ll bet you did, sunshine” he replies, tucking a stray blonde strand behind his ear “were you a good boy for Hanym?” 

“The best,” Hanym coos.

A dark skinned boy shuffles into the room.

“‘lo, Yuuri,” he mumbles. 

“Hello, Otabek!” Yuuri replies, smiling. Otabek was Yuri’s first friend. Yuuri had broken down sobbing when Yuri brought home an invitation to his house the first time, embarrassing his son beyond belief. Now the boys are joined at the hip. Where Yuri is, Otabek is. It still makes Yuuri’s cheeks hurt grinning sometimes.

“Papa, Beka wants to be a ballet dancer like you! Won’t he be good at it?” 

Yuuri nods his assent, not just agreeing out of courtesy. Otabek’s a hard working kid. The boy flushes. “I haven’t even taken lessons yet, Yura,” he whines. 

“Yeah, but when you do you’ll be the best dancer ever, idiot. Except for Papa,” Yuri nods smartly.

“Anyway, we gotta go, Yura. Put your coat on- _yes_ you have to, it’s cold outside. Thanks for having him, Hanym,” He hugs her, then highfives Otabek. 

“Any time, my dear. And Yuuri?” Hanym looks him directly in the eye “whatever it is, God will find a way,”

Yuuri’s throat closes up. He just nods. 

__________________________

They walk together in a comfortable silence, hand in mittened hand.

“Hey, sunshine, want to go out? Get hot chocolate?” 

“Really?! B-but I thought- your pointe shoes- we were saving?“

“Ah, we have more than I thought,” Yuuri lies again, but Yuri believes it. So it’s okay. Pointe shoes are fucking expensive, and he wears them out like shelling wrappers off toffees, one pair after the another. But he can be set back a few hundred rubles, for this. 

Yuri crows with delight, tugs him to the nearest cafe. He’s got whipped cream all over his nose less than a minute after getting the hot chocolate, and Yuuri snaps a picture before gently rubbing it off with his permanent supply of wipes. If you are a parent to a seven year old, you are also a tissue dispenser. It's an unspoken fact.

“Papa! Delete it!”

“Excuse me?”

“Delete it please, Papa,”

“That’s more like it. Okay, sunshine,” 

(he’s still lying)

Yuuri tries to work up the nerve to say something. Decides to wait until they’re back into the safe peach glow of their flat, Yuri bundled up happily on the sofa in a knitted blanket. It took them weeks to make that blanket, and no few tears were shed when a stitch was dropped. Yuuri stares at the crimson wool. Come on, Katsuki. 

“Yura, something important happened while you were away,” he says, trying his best to sounds calm. 

_ What if he wants to go? _

“What?” Yuri hums, mind obviously elsewhere.

_ What if he goes with Nikiforov?  _

“You know that Papa adopted you, sunshine?” Yuuri croaks out.

_ What if he never wants to see me again? _

“Yes,” Yuri says slowly, paying attention now.

“Yesterday- yesterday, your biological father turned up at the flat,” Yuuri blurts, clenches his fist.

Yuri is frozen, porcelain. 

“He w-wants…he wants to take you away, sunshine. He says that I’m not your real Papa. He’s very rich, my love. Victor Nikiforov? You know him, right? The model? That’s him,” Yuuri shuts his eyes tight “do you want to go with him? He could give you everything you want, angel, he could. I-“

“Stupid Papa!” Yuri screams. Yuuri opens his eyes to see tears and snot flooding down his screwed up face. His heart lurches, seizing his little body and pulling him close, cocoons him in his arms. 

“A-as if I’d ever w-want an-nyone other than you-u! You’re my Papa! He may as well b-be a brick w-wall to me! I don’t care about-t him!” Yuri sobs into his chest, hitting him with a weak fist.

“Okay,” Yuuri whispers, pressing kisses into his hair “okay,” 

__________________________

** MONEY CAN’T BUY YOU LOVE: VICTOR NIKIFOROV’S CHILD WANTS TO STAY WITH HIS ADOPTED FATHER (AND WE ALL WANT HIM TO) **

 

 Sara Crispino 

Buzzfeed News Reporter

Okay, we love Vicky Nicky as much as the next person. But looking at these incredible pictures of his son, Yuri K-P, with his adoptive parent, we’re not sure everyone’s fave model can love him as well as Yuuri Katsuki, a professional ballerina with the Mariinsky Theatre can. In this amazing interview with photoblogger Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri and Yuri describe what their life has been like since they came together four years ago. 

All we can say is: get your tissues. Parenting goals. 

keep reading

__________________________

Phichit <3: YUURI

Phichit <3: YUUUUURRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Phichit <3: Ok omg this has blown up

Phichit <3: literally has the most hits?????

Phichit <3: it’s my most popular post ever

Phicit <3: Guang-hong’s doing a Skype interview w/ you two tonight <3, don’t forget!!!!!! also leo says that Salsa crisps wrote an article           about u two so now there's been lOADS more traffic within the last 30 mins I c a n ‘ t 

Phichit <3: even if most of it is screenshots of my tumblr……………..y’know

Me: her name is sara crispino phichit wtf

Phichit <3: I can’t believe you chose to comment on that bit

Phichit <3: ANYWAY yurio looked like such a perfect lil angel I cant

Me:           thanks for this, phichit

Phichit <3: any time, my love. <3333333333333 

__________________________

gofundme

 

** HELP KASTUKI YUURI AND YURI PLISETSKY STAY TOGETHER **

 

_ This campaign is trending! _

 

Started by: Leo de la Iglesia

Story: 

To be honest, you guys, just read the interview. For those of you that don’t have time, here are a few choice quotes:

“Papa is my Papa, not him,” 

“And then Victor Nikiforov comes bursting into my flat with the best lawyer in the city. He says he’s going to take my son away and I-I’m on an dancer’s salary. How am I supposed to fight back? All I know is that I refuse to give up.”

Victor Nikiforov is trying to take his biological son away from his real father. Victor Nikiforov has the most successful lawyer in St. Petersburg, Mr. Yakov Feltsman, notorious for defending any immoral man with enough money-and winning. Please donate to help the Katsukis stay together. They need a very good lawyer to be able to stand a chance. 

 

Total: 

$57,905 of $70,000 goal

raised by 92373 people in one day 

 

Comments:

 

$10

Kathryn Smith

I cried reading the interview omg, poor yuuri+ yuri! stupid victor, go away :(

 

$5

Olivier Moreau

Je suis aussi sur le salaire d'un danseur, donc je ne peux pas donner beaucoup. Mais je prie pour que cette belle famille puisse rester ensemble.

 

$250

CC

 

$15

明海

私は才能のある田舎者を支援しています！ 私はこの豊かな男が立ち去ることを願っています...

 

$10

Kriti Sinha

To be honest, I can understand that victor thinks that he’s entitled to yuri. They’re blood-related, so surely it’s natural? But the thing is, kids don’t work like that. As far as yuri’s concerned, victor is nobody. Yuuri’s the one who has rocked him to sleep and taken care of him when he’s sick and chased away the monsters under his bed. 

I hope they win. 

__________________________

Yakov Feltsman reads the front page of the newspaper and throws a paperweight at an intern. 

__________________________

Yuuri’s had to force money back into his fellow dancers’ hands at rehearsal all day. Some attempt to slip banknotes into his leotard. Even the choreographer, Celestino Cialdini, is trying to stuff rubles into his dance bag as they finally leave. Yuuri’s got to pick Yuri up from ice skating, then dash to the grocery store. He hasn’t really got time for this, but he can’t help laughing a little at the Italian’s dramatics. 

“Ah! You caught me!” he grins. Yuuri scoops it all out, a whole wad of notes, and pushes them into Celestino's arms. 

“Well, Mr. Katsuki,” Celestino sighs “I guess I can let it go, considering that you’ll probably get a pay rise very soon,”

Yuuri starts.

“Ah, you had no idea! Well, you think too little of yourself. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself getting a couple of spotlight auditions, Mr. Second Soloist,”

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat as Celestino winks at him and skips away.

Second Soloist.

That’s ridiculous. He can’t believe out of everyone, they’re promoting _him._ But he’s hardly going to refuse it. Dance is his second great love, and for a very long time it was his first. He is a dancer to the core, and being able to dance more is…is incredible. He can’t wait to tell Yuri. Maybe they’ll go out for din-or he could buy him some new blades! Yuuri is so happy, he doesn’t realise what’s going on outside until he stumbles straight into the situation. The air bites his nose, and the noise assaults his ears. People, people, people, wherever he turned.

Phichit had said this might happen, he just didn't realise how bad it would truly be. 

Each camera flash feels like a gunshot.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, can we get a comment for the Gazette?”

_ No, you can’t. _

Snap

“Where’s Yuri?”

_ Somewhere you won’t find him. _

Snap

“Don’t you think Victor would be a better parent?”

_ No-yes. No. No. _

Snap

_ My baby, he’s trying to take my baby.  _

Snapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnapsnap

“Oi! Back off!” A voice says. He doesn’t recognise it. There’s a warm hand on his back which steers him back into the studio. He flinches away from the voice, sinks down against a wall, takes shallow, rapid breaths. _My baby, my baby, my baby._  

“Deep breaths,” the voice says. It’s deep, reassuring. “Can I unzip your jacket? Is that okay?”

Yuuri nods. The owner of the voice does just that, and Yuuri feels cool air hit his overheating skin. 

“Can I hold your hand?” Yuuri nods again, knows that he needs something to ground him, because he’s going, high high high up in the atmosphere, where there’s no air to breathe.

“In, out, in, out,” the voice says slowly, reassuringly, squeezing his hand. He shudders, shakes, like metal grinding against stone. He is gone, adrift, a boat lost at sea. 

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” someone calls, from a million miles away. A second voice. Yuuri knows this one.

“I can take over, thanks for helping him,” the second voice says. Phichit?

By the time he’s found his way back to land, the first voice is gone. Phichit is cradling his hand gently, as if he’s going to scatter like dust in the wind.

_________________________________

This is the second time a millionaire has casually burst into Yuuri’s flat.

Phichit had gone shopping for them, forced Yuuri to go home after picking up Yuri. He was still a little shaky, but felt better with his mask high on his face, beanie pulled low over his eyes. Luckily Yuri was too exhausted after practice to notice anything was off about his papa, scoffing down his noodles, practically dropping off to sleep as Yuuri washed his hair. Yuuri carried him to bed, read him a few pages of Harry Potter before his son was truly dead to the world.

He’d just curled up on the sofa with a cup of green tea when there is a smart rapping on his door. 

A woman strides straight into the room when he opens it, heels clicking. She kicks them off and sits down on an armchair, opening her leather briefcase. She looks incredibly out of place in the softness (and cheapness) of their flat, all crisp white suit and clean linen edges, hair pulled back in a neat bun.

Yuuri blinks at her. 

“Wha-?”

“My name is Lilia Baranovskaya,” the woman says, green eyes cool, steely like a drawn sword “and I’m your lawyer for this case."

He carries on gaping like a 5 ft 8 koi fish. Lilia carries on speaking, inspecting her nails.

"My ex-husband may be the best lawyer in St. Petersburg, but in Moscow, a whisper of "Baranovskaya," makes even the most seasoned barrister piss his designer pants,"

Yuuri finds his voice. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he offers weakly.

"I'd love one," she replies.

_________________________________

Victor Nikiforov has lost the battle, but he _will_ win the war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> 私は才能のある田舎者を支援しています！ 私はこの豊かな男が立ち去ることを願っています... - I'm supporting my talented countryman! I hope this rich guy fucks off...
> 
> Je suis aussi sur le salaire d'un danseur, donc je ne peux pas donner beaucoup. Mais je prie pour que cette belle famille puisse rester ensemble. - I am also on a dancer's salary, so I'm not able to give a lot. But I pray that this beautiful family can stay together. 
> 
> if there are any glaring mistakes please tell me!!  
> so- we've met phichit, yurio, lilia and 'the voice' hmmmmm wonder who they are???? 
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO'S SUPPORTING THIS FIC YOU GUYS ARE THE BOMB.COM XXX  
> you can follow me at on tumblr [icanhinatashouyoutheworld](https://icanhinatashouyoutheworld.tumblr.com/) for updates if you want? or not? come scream with me? talk to me? im so lonely?  
> If you want to track the progress of this fic, go to my "updated" tag xxx I also track the "blood is thicker than" tag in case...y'know...u guys wanted to say anything idk if I'm being delusional lol xxx  
> MORE AMAZING ART:
> 
> [A BEAUTIFUL MIKHAIL ](http://luluhastea.tumblr.com/post/159885641027/icanhinatashouyoutheworld-this-is-for-you-i-hope)by the incREDIBLE @luluhastea
> 
> [ ANOTHER WONDERFUL MIKHAIL](http://cute-evil-meme-queen.tumblr.com/post/160142272367/so-this-is-a-character-from-the-fic-blood-is) BY the lovely @cute-evil-meme-queen
> 
> hope you've enjoyed! have a great day! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOUD, LOUD SCREAMING  
> wow okay this fic has had such a MASSIVE response what the fuck????? literally I could not wish for a more lovely, responsive, supportive audience!!! y'all spoil me!!! I'm doing my best to reply to comments, but there's a FLOOD OF LOVE FROM Y'ALL AND IM SO GRATEFULLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!  
> I'm so sorry this is so late, I've been ill and away!!  
> this chapter might seem like it doesn't make sense and i kinda hate myself for it (I've had to split it into THREE PARTS BECAUSE IT WAS TOO LONNGGGGG) but i hope u see why it was necessary later *wink wonk*  
> the spacing's a lil weird idk what's going on but will try and fix it once i work out what i dont like about it lol  
> hope y'all enjoy!!!

“I, um,” Yuuri stutters. Lilia Baranovskaya looks at him over his nicest (least chipped) mug and Yuuri almost apologises for speaking in her presence.  
“Idonthaveanymoney,” he sputters, spraying spit everywhere. He only wants to die a little bit.

She gives him a look. “Yes, you do. Everybody with internet access has seen that fundraiser,”  
“Oh, I-yes. But probably not enough-“  
“To afford me? Of course not,” she says matter-of-factly. Yuuri’s heart sinks, even though he’d seen this coming. He’d heard that some barristers charge by the minute.  
“That’s obvious. But I don’t need your money,” Lilia replies, handing him a file. He opens it quickly, trying to hide the quivering of his hands. Yuuri reads the papers. The words aren’t quite sinking in.  
“Wha-“  
“It’s simple,” Lilia interrupts him “the public likes you, the underdog. I defend you. I win the case. I get attention for my new branch company, solicitors who will deal with custody trials and the like all over Russia,”  
“Like a business deal?” Yuuri frowns.  
“Exactly. I’ll take whatever you currently have as fees.” Lilia slides a pen neatly out of her blazer, signs her name on a dotted line. The pen winks at him expectantly in her hand. 

Yuuri’s not stupid. He might be poor as fuck, a young single dad and a dancer, but contrary to popular belief, none of these things mean that he’s dumb. A successful lawyer turns up at his doorstep and offers to work his case for less than a quarter of what she probably usually charged?

“Did someone put you up to this? Was it Nikiforov? Feltsman?” he snarls, carnal, a mongrel facing a lion. His eyes flick to the door. What if she's trying to distract him while that dickhead swoops through the window and kidnaps his son?

Lilia raises her eyebrows. Her mouth curls. She throws her head back and laughs.  
Yuuri sits in shock. She’s got a nice laugh, high and pretty, like the tinkling of wine glasses.  
She stops as quick as she started. “Finally found your spine, did you?” she says, a smile in her voice. “I don’t want anything to do with that brat, nor my ex-husband,”  
“You-Yakov?!” Yuuri gapes, trying to imagine this graceful woman married to that bulldog.  
“Unfortunately,” Lilia sniffs “we all make mistakes,”  
Yuuri laughs at that, laughs while he signs his name on the dotted line.  
______________________________  
MOSCOW’S MOST SUCCESSFUL LAWYER TO DEFEND IN KATSUKI CASE

Lilia Baranovskaya, of Baranovskaya & Baranovskaya, is to defend Yuuri Katsuki in the year’s biggest scandal, it has emerged. Pictures of Yuuri Katsuki with Baranovskaya were posted last night on twitter. “I am indeed defending Katsuki against Nikiforov. I look forward to working with him,” Baranovskaya told reporters this morning.  
What makes this even more juicy, of course, is that Baranovskaya and Nikiforov’s lawyer, Yakov Feltsman, were once married. They split up in 2007 in one of Russia’s most high profile divorce cases. Allegations of Feltsman bribing the judges were thrown about after Baranovskaya lost over 90% of her holdings in their joint law company Feltsman & Baranovskaya. Furthermore, rumour has it that Feltsman did not fight for custody of their son, Mikhail Baranovsky (formerly Feltsman), instead handing over custody to Baranovskaya. Sources close to the family have told NOUS! that Baranovskaya refused to accept child support, even though she and her son were living in relative poverty after the divorce read more  
______________________________  
Victor slams into Yakov office, a blur of blue cotton and mismatched socks.  
“What the fuck is going on?!” he shouts, running a hand through his mussed hair. Victor’s shaking with anger, confusion, because all of a sudden the world is against him.  
He collapses into the chair, pulls up an article from ‘NOUS!’, thrusts it in Yakov’s face. He’d thought they were on his side.  
When he’d first hired Yakov, the man had stressed the importance of “friends in the highest of high places and the lowest of low,”  
Victor had understood when he got drunk and drove his custom Mercedes into a tree, when people cried “selfish” and “bad role model” and “careless”. Yakov had just sent him home with a careless flap of the hand before Victor even opened his mouth to stammer out apologies, to beg him to fix the mess he’d made.

The next day #NikiforovChildrensHospital was trending and Vogue were begging him for a front cover.

Whenever Victor got into trouble (which was pretty often) NOUS! ran articles with titles like “VICTOR NIKIFOROV GIVES HALF A MILLION DOLLARS TO THE HOMELESS” or “NIKIFOROV PAYS FOR RENOVATIONS AT OLD PEOPLES’ HOME” or “NIKIFOROV FLASHES ABS IN IBIZA”. He’d watched his twitter followers spike, his job offers double, any anger over wronged ex-girlfriends or fans stamped out under the fleet of new devotees. NOUS! might have been a trashy magazine, but it was a trashy magazine with millions of readers. The media handled the masses, while Yakov slid vintage bottles of wine and cheques with six zeroes into the hands of government officials and magazine editors. Victor Nikiforov had a clean rep by law and by society. He was invincible. There were no chinks in his armour.

Until Yuuri Katsuki.

“They’re being smart, that’s what,” Yakov groans, rubbing his forehead “to be frank, Victor, it’s fashionable to hate you right now,”  
Victor snorts. Fashionable. _Fashionable_. He’s the fucking king of the runway, and all of a sudden it’s in vogue to detest him?  
“So what do we do, then?” he spits.  
Yakov’s eyes flash. Bloodthirsty, the thrill of the chase. He’s a terrible human being, but he has an answer for everything.  
“We’ve got to be smarter,” he says simply, before picking up his phone.  
What Yakov was growling into the receiver made Victor grin. Not the smile that sold bottles of perfume by the dozen, but one that dragged his competitors through dust, spat in their pitful faces.  
_____________________________  
“I call this meeting to order!” 

“Phichit, shut the fu-fluff up,” Leo groans, rubbing his eyes “it’s four in the morning over here,”  
“As if you aren’t always awake at this time!” Phichit chirps “Besides, we had to make sure that Yura could make it, he’s the star after all!”  
The boy scowls in lieu of replying, but clings to Yuuri’s hand under the table, shuffles a little closer.  
“Aw, Yuri! Your plaits look so cute!” Guang-Hong coos at him, voice still sweet as ever over Skype. Yuri brightens almost comically.

“Papa taught me how to french braid, and I did it all by myself! Kind of,” he rushes out, before flushing pink. Yuuri grins knowingly at Phichit. He'd suspected that Yuri has a bit of a crush on the gentle Chinese boy after their last Skype interview, and it doesn’t look like he’s wrong.

“Guys, we need to hurry this up, Yuri’s got ice skating in half an hour,” he says. The bloggers nod at him. Yuuri listens quietly as Phichit rattles out his masterplan from his bedroom across the city. Watches the softness of the American sunrise dust Leo’s head, the busy glow of a Shanghai evening behind Guang-Hong’s.

He is tired, so tired. He’s not used to the attention, the photographs, the sheer amount of talking he’s having to do. But if it’s for Yuri? He will obey, obey, obey, give interviews until his tongue lolls out his mouth, type until his fingers bleed. 

“Papa!” Yuri tugs impatiently on his shirt. Yuuri jolts out of his stupor.  
“Hm?!” Yuuri says. Yuri huffs out a breath, waves his phone at him. How does he always sneak that off me? Yuuri thinks, before frowning at the messages that have flashed up on the screen.

Lilia Baranovskaya: I’ve arranged a photographer for Yuri’s ice-skating practise. Make sure you’re there.  
Lilia Baranovskaya: You’re being picked up early. Black Jaguar. Number plate is XX XXX

Yuuri frowns, but texts back an affirmation anyway. "Lilia knows best," is his new motto. “Go get ready, sunshine,” he nudges Yuri. Yuri’s on his best behaviour in front of Guang-Hong, and so obeys with an uncharacteristically docile “Yes, Papa,” and skips off. If this is what it took to get Yuri to listen quickly and quietly he’d have to talk to Guang-Hong more often, Yuri thinks. “Anyway guys, Lilia wants us at the rink soon, for photos or something-“  
“DIBS!” Phicit screams. All the bloggers immediately burst into an argument.  
“Phichit, you got the last ones, it’s my turn!” Guang-Hong whines. 

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri waves at them (they all ignore him, too busy squawking at each other) and logs off. 

Yuuri's always tried to encourage self-expression in his son, but the leopard print hoody, leggings and beanie (courtesy of Phichit) aren't really what he had in mind for their photoshoot.  
"Yura-" Yuuri starts, before waving it off, seizing his son's highlighter pink skate bag (again, Phichit) and ushering him out of the flats. They were trying to be honest, after all.

There's a black car waiting as promised, all tinted windows and shiny chrome wheels. Yuuri checks and re-checks the number plate before he lets Yuri, who is vibrating like a shaken bottle of pop with excitement, remotely close to the car.

Yuuri raps cautiously on the glass. It winds down slowly, as if they're in a low-budget mafia movie. He can't see the driver properly. This is creepy as fuck. He's pretty sure he's seen a murder mystery like this, but there's a distinct lack of any axe-wielding madmen, so Yuuri grits his teeth and gets on with it. For Yuri's sake, he reminds himself, not a motto but an oath.

"Um, hello? I'm Yuuri?"  
"Hey," a voice says "get in,"  
That voice, that he heard from up in an air balloon.  
Yuuri flushes, fumbles with the door handle. Flops into the car with all the grace of a drunk elephant, Yuri hopping in delicately after him.  
He's sitting in a car with the voice. The voice, which belongs to a shock of blue hair, strong arms, a pair of green eyes.

"My name's Mikhail Baranovsky. Pleased to meet you," he says, low and comforting, like spreading honey on bread. Baranovsky? Lilia's son, cousin, nephew?  
"Likewise. My name's Yuuri Katsuki, this is my son, Yuri," he manages, even as questions teem at the tip of his tongue.

Yuri just nods at the back of Mikhail's head. Yuuri raises his eyebrows pointedly at him, and he blurts out a "Hullo, mister,", before settling back a little into the suede seat.  
"Ah, not mister. I'm only twenty-four," Mikhail smiles into the rearview mirror. Yuri frowns at him.  
Yuuri winces in sympathy for Mikhail.  
Yuri's a sweet kid, but hard for people to understand. They think he doesn't like them, but he's only trying to suss them out.  
"You're the ice skater, huh?" he carries on. Yuuri nods encouragingly at his son.  
"Yeah," Yuri mumbles.  
"Ah, great! I've taken lots of pictures of skaters before, so I'm excited to take them of you, too,"  
"You're doing the photos?" Yuri frowns "You have a nice car. I thought all photo people were poor,"  
"Yura! Sorry, so-Yuri, you shouldn't say things like that!" Yuuri rushes out, flushing.  
Mikhail just laughs. "Yeah, a lot of us are. I was for a very long time too, but I landed a job at 24 news. And damn, I wish this was my car, but it's my mom's. She's your lawyer, right?" The last question is directed at Yuuri. Son then.  
"Yes, she is. We're very grateful for her," Yuuri replies, fidgeting nervously with Yuri's plaits, smoothing and tightening and straightening. His little blond head nuzzles into his palm like a four foot cat.  
They're quiet for the rest of the journey, the only sound being the steady hum of the car engine. Yuri doesn't stop gaping at the blue glow of the dashboard, excitedly when the car _speaks_ , like something out of a comic book.  
Mikhail opens the door for them. "Sir," he drawls dramatically, sweeping his arm out. Yuri looks at him a little oddly before dashing away.  
"That means he's warming up to you," Yuuri says quietly, as Yuri bounds through the doors of the ice rink.  
"I'm glad," Mikhail says with a toothy grin, all freckles and excitement, like a dalmatian puppy "he's a cute kid,"  
"He is," Yuuri says "he really is,"

The rink air is bracing, and Yuuri shudders a little. Mikhail has melted away, saying something about angles and climbing ladders.  
Yuuri had nodded bemusedly.  


Mop of gold hair flowing behind him, Yuri skates in smooth, smooth lines, just as good as the children two or three years older. He's swapped the leopard print leggings for a pink pair, which Yuuri is privately grateful for.

He loves watching Yuri skate. Loves seeing his usually reserved little boy become animated, a swoop of technicolour, a dash of glowing paint across the ice. Eyes as bright as the day he first skidded onto the rink, clutching Yuuri's hands and laughing, laughing. They were at a public session, but a teenage supervisor has been so impressed that he'd skated up to them. "You should put him in lessons," he'd lisped "I've never seen anyone pick up skating that fast,"

Yuri had looked like the boy had offered him the world.

Yuuri signed his name up as they left, sold his laptop, swapped his phone for a Nokia.  
There's a loud snort next to him. Yuuri starts. "You look like a...what do Americans say? Soccer parent. So proud!" Mikhail laughs "I've got some great photos of him,”

He shows Yuuri the screen of his camera. Yuri, in all his spectral glory, still looking like someone had handed him the universe on a plate.

"You've got his face just right," Yuuri says, then promptly wants to punch himself in his own face. As if Mikhail would know what he meant.

"I know what you mean," Mikhail says "I bet he only looks like this while skating, huh?”

"Yeah!" Yuuri squeaks a little.

Mikhail leans over the railing, watching Yuri closely. "Y'know, I really am glad Mom took your case," he starts, then swallows "she's-when she read about it, I honestly thought she was going to murder Yakov,"

Yuuri waits. Knows there's more the man has to say, that he's working up the nerve to say it, has been working up the nerve to say it for a while. 

"When I was a kid, I was nothing like my dad wanted. My mom might seem like a hardass, but she just wanted me to be happy. Still wants me to. She left Yakov because he was too hard on me, and lost everything because of it. The press wouldn't leave her alone, so nobody would hire her. She raised me by herself, in a shitty flat, working shitty jobs, even though she went to the best fucking university in Russia.” Mikhail scoffs now, grip tightening on the rinkside, white-knuckled, keeping his eyes fixed on the bright white ice. Yuuri knows he can't see it. 

“We didn't have enough money, but I never went to bed hungry. She bought me the best bloody camera on the market but didn't buy herself new tights for three years. Someone finally took her seriously and gave her a position, and she built us from the ground up. Whenever I offered to sell my camera, drop out of school, go get a second job, she'd smack me over the head and call me a brat. I think she's doing this because she sees us in you, if you know what I mean. That's why I went to find you, that day with that mob of paparazzi. I wanted you to meet her, but then she beat me to it." 

Mikhail's voice cracks a little. Yuuri's heart breaks a little. 

Business deal, Lilia had said. 

"I-sorry. That was embarrassing, huh? Blabbering to someone who's practically a stranger?" Mikhail smiles, but it's forced, and Yuuri wants to cradle him in his arms like he does for Yuri when he's upset.  


"No," he says quietly, and hope Mikhail understands what he means once more, even though he doesn't know how to say it.

The look in Mikhail's eyes tells him he does.

_____________  
YUURI KATSUKI IS MENTALLY ILL  
NOUS! Magazine has secured evidence that Yuuri Katsuki, defendant in the Nikiforov Custody Case, is taking both anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. NOUS! speaks to anonymous experts to find out if somebody so unstable is fit to be raising a child.  
keep reading

____________ 

Victor watches his followers spike, his job offers double.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPE YOU ENJOYED! AT LEAST A LITTLE???  
> you can follow me at www.icanhinatashouyoutheworld.tumblr.com to get updates and stuff if u want idk  
> thank u to all the lovely nonnies who are talking to me + empressarisu for being an angel!!!! <333333  
> ps am tracking blood is thicker than on tumblr if u wanna like...talk about it. or not. idk  
> (PLS DO I NEED PEOPLE TO SCREAM WITH IN THIS FANDOM IM FRIENDLY I SWEAR)  
> THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE, AM ALWAYS SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU GUYS!!!!!!!!  
> I hope y'all like mikhail because he is an important plot device and i like him
> 
> EDIT: WE HIT 1000 KUDOS.........I C A N T YOU GUYS.....SO KIND TO ME  
> if you ever write anything or draw anything or idk sneeze and think of this fic pLEASE TELL ME I LOVE HEARING WHAT YOU GUYS HAVE TO SAY


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAA IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I WAS WRITING ANOTHER FIC AND IVE BEEN BUSY  
> SO YH  
> I HOPE U LIKE THIS  
> thank u as always to the WONDERFUL people who support this fic!! <33 xxx everyone who comments, kudos, bookmarks, you're all AMAZING and keep me writing!

@peachfizz33  
I can't believe what nous has done! #isthatevenlegal 

@vickynickyfan88  
I knew victor would be a better baby daddy 

@24newsofficial  
Outrage after the medical records of Yuuri Katsuki, defendant in the #katsukicase, were leaked by NOUS! magazine.

@kriti__sinha  
This is ridiculous. I'm genuinely disgusted. @nousmag should be sued! #katsukicase #prokatsuki

@victorsbabygirl2002  
no offense but if he cant even be a normal person how can he rais a kid 

@victorsbutt  
I'm so shocked and disappointed with @therealnikiforov it's unreal #prokatsuki #katsukicase

@victorsbabygirl2002  
@victorsbutt um….why arent u on victors side he hasnt done anything!! #smh

@victorsbutt  
@victorsbabygirl2002 okay I know ur like 12 but seriously? victor's in a custody case and his opponent's medical history is leaked? 

@victorsbutt  
@victorsbabygirl2002 it's pretty damn obvious what's happened

@victorsbabygirl2002  
@victorsbutt shut the fuck up!!!! im not 12+ dont acuuse him #hater #pronikiforov 

@victorsbutt  
@victorsbabygirl2002 wow

@tangerinehinata  
@victorsbutt I'm #prokatsuki but I don't see that? Like there's no proof+ nous didn't link victor to the article 

@victorsbutt  
@tangerinehinata money gets u anywhere dude, they know the attitude of these bigoted idiots+ are using it as a weapon

@victorsbutt  
changing my Twitter handle

@harrystylzzzzzzz  
#pronikiforov dejar de odiarlo por favor no ha hecho nada!

@james_de_la_rosa193  
#pronikiforov 

@hothothotaru  
そのつぶやきを誰ともフォローしない #pronikiforov ! #prokatsuki #teamyuuri

@suzukirin1996  
@hothothotaru 私はあなたをフォローしていると思います!! #pronikiforov

@okaybutihateutoo  
Can we please fucking stop with this #teamyuuri bull this isn't fucking twilight #prokatsuki ftw

@theblekparade  
@okaybutihateutoo ........Yuuri's medical records have been leaked...and you're arguing about.....the hashtag….

@guanghongwrites  
#prokatsuki 

@chrisgiacofficial  
Have been friends with @therealnikiforov for a very long time. I know he wouldn't do something like this

@dropitlikeitsmildlywarm  
@chrisgiacofficial suck my ass Giacometti #prokatsuki

@nousmag  
We are very sorry for our article written about @yuurikatsuki18 and have deleted it. 

@leomakesmusic  
@nousmag bit late 

@thekingJJ  
@nousmag fuck off lol

@phichittakesphotos  
Yuuri is very grateful for the flood of support after what's happened. He asks you to please respect both his and his son's privacy.

@phichittakesphotos  
@thekingJJ will release an interview with him in 2 days. please keep supporting him. Love you, chu-chums!~ <3

@mentalhealthawarenessUSA  
25 celebrity parents with mental illnesses #prokatsuki #stopstigma  
_________________________  
unknown number  
Hey, it’s Mikhail. I’m so sorry about what’s happened.

unknown number  
Mum says that we should post the photos, but I don’t want to do anything without an all clear. She thinks it will help.

You  
Thanks. Go ahead.

Mikhail Baranovsky  
I really am sorry, yuuri.

You  
me too  
_________________________

@24news  
EXCLUSIVE: Pictures of Yuuri and Yuri Katsuki.

@kkjs9999  
Look at little Yuri aww! I hope he grows up to be an olympian!

@iceskatingqueen27  
I LOVE SEEING LITTLE KIDS GET INTO SKATING 

@iceskatingqueen27  
HIS TINY BABY SKATES I C A N T 

@jaimeolivierrrrrrrr  
Comment pouvez-vous regarder ces images et nier combien Yuuri aime son fils?

@victor-love  
the kid’s cute can’t wait til he grows up ;)

@kkjs9999  
@victor-love THIS IS WHY EVERYONE HATES VICTOR STANS FFS

_______________________________

Yuuri is phoned at the theatre three days after the leak.

He’s been rehearsing for hours, but still can’t get rid of the anxiety high in his chest, no matter how much his thighs burn, his arms protest. Hasn’t been able to get rid of it since the flood of notifications on his phone, since Phichit’s frantic calls. The relentless assault of people, people with condolences, people who seemed to hate him with an all-consuming passion, despite him being a complete stranger. There is a permanent crowd outside his apartment block. He’s never been more glad to live on the fourth floor. 

“Yuuri?” Yuuri stumbles out of a turn when he hears his name being called. 

The secretary waves him over with a pink-clawed hand. “There’s a call for you,” she says.

He bows to Celestino and follows her to the office, mind revving like a car engine. It couldn’t be press, they wouldn’t have called him out of rehearsal for that. Maybe it was Lilia? With shaky hands, he lifts the clunky handset to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mr. Katsuki?” a crisp, professional woman says.

“Yes,”

“I’m calling from All Saints Junior School. I’m afraid that you’re going to have to come in and meet the headmistress, Yuri has been fighting with other pupils,”

“I’ll be right there,” Yuuri says, before slamming the phone down and sprinting to the changing rooms. 

He gets changed and hurries to the bus stop. He would run, but he can't get to the meeting all sweaty and disgusting, he thinks while trying to flatten his hair. He doesn’t notice the Jaguar pull up next to him. “Yo,”

“Mikhail!” Yuuri says “What are you doing here?”

“I was just passing by. Shouldn’t you be doing ballerina things?”

“ I have to go to Yuri’s school, right now,” Yuuri says, willing a bus to appear.

“Oh. Hop in, then,”

“Are you s-“

Mikhail opens the side door in response. Yuuri debates quickly in his head. He feels awkward getting into the car with Mikhail, but he needs to get to Yuri as fast as he can. 

He slides into the passenger seat.

The Jaguar roars through the traffic, Mikhail driving as though oblivious to the flurry of indignant horns. “So what’s up?”

“Yuri’s been fighting with other kids. He might be hurt, I-” his voice breaks.

Mikhail drives faster.  
__________________________________  
Two broken noses, one black eye, and three split lips.

Yuuri sits next to his son as the headmistress rattles off the injuries from the fight that broke out. Yuri’s knuckles are purple-red-blue, his hair is matted with blood.  
His own lip is slowly trickling blood, and Yuuri pressed a tissue to it as soon as he saw his beautiful, battered boy. 

Three versus one. 

“So why exactly did this fight break out?” one of the mothers in the room snaps. They’re sitting across a desk from three other little boys with puffy faces and their parents quivering like Rottweilers with rage behind them. 

The headmistress, a woman with a stern haircut and sterner eyes, sighs. “Well Yuri, will you talk now that your father’s here?”  
Yuri shifts in his seat.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” another mother says “he picked a fight with our sons, probably because he’s jealous of the-“  
“I’m sorry?” Yuuri scoffs.  
“Well obviously with all this controversy-“  
“They said that Papa's crazy,” Yuri interrupts. 

There is quiet.

“They said that Papa is crazy, and that the police are going to take him away,” Yuri spits, but there’s a tremble in his voice and Yuuri presses into his side “they wouldn’t shut up. I said “If you say any more, I’ll beat you up,” and then Alexei said that I’m crazy just like my Papa. So I beat them up, like I said I would,”

Alexei, the boy in question, glares at the floor, nose full of cotton and ice on his eye.

“So he started it, basically, like I said,” the same mother says, but the edge to her voice is blunted.  
“But it’s not completely Yuri’s fault,” the Headmistress replies, before Yuuri can say anything “and instead of going to get a teacher, these boys kept fighting,”  
“So? They were defending themselves!” Alexei’s father barks.  
“That is debatable, Mr. Petrov! They will all be punished,” the Headmistress retorts firmly, and Yuuri feels like she and Lilia would be very good friends. 

“Yuri Plisetsky will be suspended for one and a half weeks, starting tomorrow" she continues and the parents’ lips curl in satisfaction. Yuuri feels like punching them.  
“Alexei Petrov, Feliks Vasilev and Gogol Lebedev will be suspended for a week,”

Yuuri feels himself smirk, and quickly straightens his face before standing up. The other parents have started squabbling again, and Yuuri catches the headmistress’ eye as he bows. Yuri does the same, and they leave the room. 

Mikhail is waiting for them. Yuuri watches Yuri wince in discomfort as he sits down in the car, watches Mikhail’s eyes widen as he takes in Yuri’s appearance.  
“Been in the wars, huh, kiddo?” Mikhail tries to joke, before reaching back and handing him a chocolate bar. 

“Thanks,” Yuri says quietly. He plays with the wrapper.

Yuri’s been watching Yuuri out of the corner of his eye the whole ride home, trying to gauge his mood, Yuuri thinks. They drive around the back of the apartment block, and Yuuri pulls a beanie low over his head, hands Yuri a medical mask. There are only a couple of reporters hanging like vultures outside their home, who must have somehow found out about Yuuri leaving rehearsal early. Yuuri tugs Yuri by the elbow as Mikhail blocks them from the camera flashes. 

“Thanks,” Yuuri says softly to Mikhail when they get to their apartment door. Mikhail grins sheepishly at him, fiddles with an earring. “No problem. Get better soon, Yura,”

Yuri is silent, fidgets on the spot. Just the two of them, tension swimming through the air.

“Come on, Yuri,” Yuuri says finally. He fills a bath with bubbles, a rare indulgence for them. Yuri gets in without a fuss, lets Yuuri wash the copper out of his hair, run a sponge carefully over his mottled skin. 

When Yuri is sitting on their bed in a towel robe, Yuuri speaks. He keeps his eyes on his son’s knuckles, bandaging them carefully.  
“So, Yura,” he starts “what do you think I’m going to say?”

“I dunno,” Yuri mumbles. Yuuri sighs, ties off the bandage, hugs his son close. Yuri immediately buries his face in his chest, shakes, sobs, little hands clutching his biceps tight.

“Yura, I know this is really hard for you, baby. I know that the kids at school are being horrible. But sunshine, the last thing Papa ever, ever wants is for you to get hurt. I know they were being mean about me, but I don’t care. Don’t start fights. Use your words, okay?”

Yuri nods.

“Okay, sunshine. Let’s eat some katsudon tonight? Would you like that? And we’ll Skype grandma and grandpa and Aunt Mari?”  
“Yeah,” Yuri whispers. Yuuri wipes his face and kisses his forehead.  
“I love you, sunshine,”  
“I love you too, Papa,”  
__________________________________  
“Sheesh,” Phichit whistles, line crackling. 

“I know, Phichit, but to be honest I’m not mad at him at all,” Yuuri sighs as he washes up. Yuri had fallen asleep a while ago, clinging to Yuuri, huddled under blankets in their room. Yuuri had wriggled his way out of bed to finish housework once his son’s breathing had evened out. His emotions froth in his chest as he lathers the plates, bubble into his throat, hang there heavy and hot.

“Well if you need a babysitter I’m free-“

“Thanks, but to be honest I’m just r-really worried about what’s happening to him at school at school. It must be so h-hard for him,” Yuuri sniffs, and then he’s slumped against the counter, weeping into his hands.

“Yuuri,” Phichit whispers, and Yuuri cries harder.

“My baby,” he rasps “my poor, poor baby,"

Yuri sits outside the kitchen door and listens.  
______________________________

@therealnikiforov  
I had nothing to do with the leak.  
______________________________

Victor stretches out on his seat. His private jet is empty save for him and the pilot, and the creamy leather is warm. The plane is bathed in sleepy gold light, but Victor’s never felt more awake.

The NOUS! leak hadn’t quite had the effect that Yakov wanted yet, only triggering a few fan wars. They’d wanted outrage, but in this internet generation, it’d come in the wrong direction. He was lucky that he hadn’t been linked to it.  
NOUS! themselves were probably going to be bullied off the internet. The editor that posted the article had enough to buy a beach house in California, and Victor’s bank account was fifty thousand dollars more empty. Not that it mattered. 

Yakov had already told Victor that one of his associates couldn’t judge the trial, it would cause too much controversy. He could try and butter up the judge once they find out who it was, but that would only work if it wasn’t some morally upright loser.  
What they needed was someone traditional. Someone who would see the young Japanese dancer and think foreigner, irresponsible, untrustworthy.  
He downs a glass of champagne. He’d seen the latest pictures, Yuri soaring like a lark around an ice rink, eyes wide with joy, limbs poised with grace beyond his seven years. 

Once he had his son, Victor’d buy him his own fucking rink.  
__________________________________

@jellybellylover90000  
sorry if im wrong but I’m pretty sure i saw lilia baranovskaya's son coming out of the feltsman building?

@jellybellylover90000  
i've got picrues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love you all! xxx  
> EDIT: TARITANGEO MADE MORE INCREDIBLE ART [I C A N T ](http://taritangeo.tumblr.com/post/159873195114/i-cant-bring-myself-post-them-separately-im)  
> ______________________________  
> translations:  
> dejar de odiarlo por favor no ha hecho nada!- please stop hating on him he's done nothing wrong!
> 
> そのつぶやきを誰ともフォローしない #pronikiforov ! #prokatsuki #teamyuuri- will be unfollowing anyone who tweets with #pronikiforov! #prokatsuki #teamyuuri
> 
> @hothothotaru 私はあなたをフォローしていると思います!! #pronikiforov- @hothothotaru guess you're unfollowing me then! #pronikiforov
> 
> Comment pouvez-vous regarder ces images et nier combien Yuuri aime son fils?- how can you look at these pictures and still deny that Yuuri loves his son?  
> ____________________________________
> 
>  
> 
> ps in this verse leo gh and phichit totally all started their music and writing and photography blogs at the same time which is why their handles kinda match (@leomakesmusic @phichittakesphotos @guanghongwrites idk i thought it was cute)
> 
> pps im sorry about all the shitty cliffhangers lol
> 
> IMPORTANTISH EDIT: changed the last tweet from  
> @jellybellylover90000  
> sorry if im wrong but I’m pretty sure i saw yuuri's lawyer's son coming out of the feltsman building?  
> to  
> @jellybellylover90000  
> sorry if im wrong but I’m pretty sure i saw lilia baranovskaya's son coming out of the feltsman building?
> 
> bc people were getting confused xxx
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr pls im so alone: [icanhinatashouyoutheworld](www.icanhinatashouyoutheworld.tumblr.com) (psst you can send me drabble prompts if u want!!!!!!! or not that's cool too)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello heLLO HELLO!!!!  
> okay i want to apologise to u guys because this chapter is like buttercream  
> it's a filler  
> HAW HAW HAW  
> jokes aside, thanks so much for all the love and support. this chapter is mostly yuri+yuuri domestics and stuff I'm sorry but tHIS FIC IS LONG SO THIS CHAPTER HAD TO BE LIKE THIS FOR IT TO FLOW PROPERLY  
> thanks so much to everyone commenting (I'm still in the process of replying to some of u but just know i've read and appreciate every single one!), kudos-ing, bookmarking, reading, making art, playlists, EVERYTHING, ALL OF U!!! I LOVE U ALL, U KEEP THIS ANXIOUS BEAN GOING xxx  
> im so nervous about posting this aaaAAAA

@anythinghxrtslessthantheqxiet  
@jellybellylover90000 …I’ve literally never seen anyone that looks LESS LIKE MIKHAIL BARANOVSKY

@anythinghxrtslessthantheqxiet  
@jellybellylover90000 MIKHAIL HAS BLUE HAIR. B L U E. THIS GUY IS BLONDE

@iceskatingqueen27  
@anythinghxrtslessthantheqxiet some ppl just love shitstirring smh  
___________________________________  
“Daisuki Yuri-chan!” Hiroko trills, blowing kisses into the camera.

“Daisuki, sobo-san, oba-chan, ” Yuri waves until Hiroko cuts the call. His mood has lifted since the night before, and has emphasised that fact by being incredibly…difficult. Mari had gone ballistic when she saw his cut lip, swearing the she’d “fly to Russia and kick their ass-butts into high heaven,” which Yuri had shrieked with laughter at, before repeating the word“ass-butt” so many times (despite Yuuri’s repeated scoldings) Yuuri was sure it was going to haunt his dreams.

Yuuri looks at the fridge and heaves a sigh. It was almost empty- he’d had to backtrack on his katsudon promise last night at the sight of the empty shelves. Yuuri hadn’t minded too much, eating his sandwiches without making a fuss. But Yuuri wasn’t being paid until the end of the month, which was in just over a week, and his bank account looks more limp by the day. Asking for money wasn’t an option. Yuuri was, down to his bare bones, a “proud, proud man! Take the bloody money!” Phichit had exclaimed. Yuuri had ducked under his arm and slinked away. He’d have to make it work, as he always has. 

He schools his expression back to normal, even though he suddenly feels like crying, hand white-knuckled around the fridge handle.

“Finish your milk, Yura,” Yuuri chides, as Yuri swirls the milk around in his cereal bowl. 

“But-“

“No buts! You’re always saying that you want to be taller than me, aren’t you? ”

“Fine,” Yuri slurps up the milk obnoxiously. Yuuri rolls his eyes affectionately, before gently urging him out of his seat and into the bathroom. They brush their teeth side by side.

“Anyway, Yura, since I have to go to rehearsal from tomorrow, you’ll have to come in with me-“

“Cab I danth foo?” Yuri says through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

“Don't do that, you'll drip foam everywhere! And no you can’t, Mr! It’s time for Kanji Camp!”

“No! Papaa, please! No kanji!” Yuri whinges, pulling a face. 

“Yes kanji! Don’t you want to surprise oba-chan?” Yuuri wheedles. The Mari card usually works.

“I’ll surprise her with my skating, please Papa, I hate learning them!”

It was time to bring out the big guns.

“Oh well then, I guess you can do something else. It’s a shame, Guang-Hong mentioned that you could help hi-“

“What?! I mean- what, Papa? About Guang-Hong?” Yuri splutters, getting foam everywhere. Yuuri sighs. He had to clean the bathroom anyway.

“He wants to learn Japanese too, y’know. He said you could help him learn,” 

“Oh! I- well Papa, if you really want me to learn my kanji, I guess I can,” Yuri mumbles, before trying to plait his hair clumsily.  
_________________________________________  
“Yuri! It’s been so long since you came!” Celestino tries to pick Yuri up. Yuri darts around him and hides behind Yuuri’s legs. “Ah, Yuuri, I can’t believe you’ve given him to the ice skaters,” Celestino sighs dramatically, “he could put you out of a job, you know,”

“That’s not true! My Papa’s the best dancer ever,” Yuri argues, though a pleased blush spreads across his nose. Celestino continues to chat to a reluctant Yuri, while Yuuri gets changed. The other dancers arrive, cooing and coddling, much to Yuri's chagrin. He gives Yuuri a please-help look. 

“You go sit in in studio 3, okay? Paula’s there, and she’s going to make sure you’re learning,” Yuuri says, nudging him towards the door.

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “I ha-“

Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” Yuri says quickly, before hopping away. Yuuri’s heard enough complaints about how ‘Paula smells like mothballs’ and ‘Paula eats bowls of kimchi by itself, it’s disturbing!” and ‘Paula didn’t know that ice skating was an Olympic sport? I thought you said she was in university? She seems du-silly,'

Rehearsal is long, but Yuuri’s finally riding off some of the anxious energy that was weighing down his limbs. Maybe it’s the fact that he can see Yuuri’s plait bobbing away in the next studio if he peers hard enough, maybe it’s the high violins of the piece. Either way, Yuuri’s the most relaxed he’s been since Nikiforov burst into his flat, even though the buzz of the empty refrigerator is still running through his head. The day is a blur, and all of a sudden Celestino’s talking, and Yuuri’s half-listening.

“And finally! I will be posting a list of people who I want to audition for solos and roles in the upcoming production tomorrow! As usual, I am springing our piece upon you with no warning!” The dancers snigger, a couple jeer. Celestino flaps a hand at them. 

“Anyway, our production this season is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,”” Celestino announces. There’s excited murmuring, but no one could possibly be as excited as Yuuri. Midsummer Night’s Dream is the first show he ever did. There was only other boy in the Hasetsu ballet classes, and he was Oberon. Yuuri? Yuuri was Titania, to the anger of some of the neighbourhood mothers. He himself was nervous, but he withstood the hurtful words and the spiteful whispers because the ones he cared about were so happy for him.  
A mother came in to complain. And Minako, his first and only ballet teacher, had looked at her dead in the eye and said “The most graceful dancer plays Titania,”.

He truly fell in love with ballet while dancing Titania, watching Minako float across the stage as she demonstrated the gentle but powerful motions of her arms, the regal posture.

He has to call Minako.

They bow and officially end rehearsal. People are still whooping (a couple are moaning about how ‘overdone’ A Midsummer Night’s Dream is, but their opinion is frankly not worth listening to) and chattering and planning. Yuuri wonders who Celestino wants to audition. A faint part of Yuuri is hopeful because of what he had said a few weeks ago, but he knows better than to assume that he would be asked to audition. Promotions in ballet move slow, and ’soon’ can mean months. 

“Are ya coming out, Yuuri?” Isaiah, who looks so much like JJ it’s scary, asks, like he does every rehearsal. Yuuri appreciates him trying to include him, and trying to be kind to Yuri, even if Yuri does recoil like a stray cat and Yuuri always refuses.

“No, not tonight, I’m afraid,” Yuuri says politely, changing quickly out of his leotard. It's his oldest one, a faded pink, but it's the most comfortable thing in the world. Yuuri guards it with his life.

“Ah, one day I’ll convince ya!” Isaiah grins cheekily and waltzes away. Yuuri doubts it. 

He pushes the door to studio three open gently. Yuri gives him a wave of acknowledgement before resuming his task. Yuuri snorts. Yuri would gripe and groan, but once he started something, he’s not stopping until it’s finished.

“Ready to go, sunshine?” Yuuri asks.

“Lemme finish this page!” Yuri says, brow creased in concentration, little hands writing furiously.

“Okay, but be quick, we don’t want to miss the bus!”

Yuri’s scribbles treble in speed. “Done!” He waves the sheet victoriously over his head, eyes bright. Yuuri grins at him, scoops him up.

“You’re so cute, Yura!”

“‘m not!” Yuri grumbles, before hugging back fiercely. 

“Let’s go?”

“Race you!” Yuri says, and flies out of the building.

“CHEAT!” Yuuri shouts, picking up both their bags and hurrying after him.  
_______________________  
When they stumble through the front door, Lilia’s sitting on the sofa. Macbook on her knee, sipping orange tea from their best mug. At this point, Yuuri’s not even surprised. 

Yuri straightens up like a soldier, pats himself down. “Hello,” Lilia says, continuing to tap away on her laptop.

“Hello? Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you,” Yuuri says, walking into the kitchenette to make himself a drink too, “Yuri, baby, why don’t you go have a shower?” his tone making it clear that this isn’t a request. 

“No, I need him here for this,” Lilia interjects, finally looking up. “I want to talk to the two of you about something,”

She turns the laptop around, revealing a mass of emails. “I want you both to appear on a chat show,”

“What? No!” Yuuri blurts out thinking _cameras people public Victor Yuri Yuri Yuri_ “No!”

“Listen, Yuuri. You can’t let the media forget about you. Sooner or later, people are going to get bored of pictures and interviews. You need to add more personality, more intimacy. All the questions will be pre-discussed and pre-decided. It won’t be live, I promise. What Mr. Chulanont has organised has been great, but we need to take it a step up, build up the hype. We can get more support, more public pressure on those judges,”

Yuuri bites his lip, hard. He knows, he knows. But he can’t stop the dread that floods through his system when he thinks about being in front of those people, and the pure terror of exposing Yuri to those shiny cameras. It feels different with Phichit, with Leo, Guang-Hong, JJ. He knows he can trust them to edit out messy words and over sharing and anxious mistakes. 

“Do you…know? The people? Are they one of your ‘connections’?” Yuuri finally says.

“Yes, of course. I defended the producer after she was accused of fraud by her boss,” Lilia replies, something warm like their tea running through her voice.  
“What do you think, Yura?” Yuuri asks. His son scrunches his nose. 

“Is it like that blonde lady who gives presents? The one whose name sounds like elephant?” he says thoughtfully.

“Ellen? Yes!” Yuuri says, giggling a little in spite of himself.

“Can _I_ have presents?” Yuri tries, looking past Yuuri’s splutter of shock straight at Lilia’s now openly amused face.

“That can be arranged,” she smiles.

“Then I’ll do it, if Papa does it too,” Yuri says decisively, jumping up and pattering away to their bedroom.

“Look. I know this seems scary. But you’re in control, alright?” Lilia reaches over and gives his hand a pat “I expect an answer within the next four days. I’m hoping it’s going to be a yes,”

Yuuri goes to walk her to the door, but Lilia shakes her head. “Sit. You look tired,” she says softly, pushing him back down.

He gives a small smile at the understanding in her eyes. “Goodbye,”.

He stays on the sofa for a little while, just breathing. In, out, in, out. “Papa,” Yuri calls from the bedroom “Papa, I’m hungry!”

Yuuri winces a little. There should be some bread left, and some cheese. Maybe some milk- though Lilia could have used it in her tea. He could make Yuri a grilled cheese and hope he didn’t get too hungry later- perhaps there were a couple of tins in the cupboard, he tells himself, even though he’s well aware that they’re bare. He drags his feet to the fridge, opens it- and his jaw drops.

It’s full to bursting. There’s bunches of green grapes gleaming next to masses of blueberries, crisp red apples and huge oranges. There’s bottles of apple juice and chocolate milk along with ordinary milk, two new blocks of cheese, eggs. Raspberry yoghurt, vanilla pudding, chocolate cake. 

Yuuri yanks open the vegetable drawer to see carrots, potatoes, broccoli, peas, tomatoes. Below it, the meat drawer is full of sausages, sandwich meat, a whole chicken, cuts of pork, fillets of fish. He’s tearing up looking at it all, slumped against their tiny fridge which is now beeping angrily at him. He closes it hastily. Opens the cupboard instead, to see loaves of bread, packets of rice, pasta, noodles, sugar.

Tubs of hot chocolate. Jars of jam, multicoloured sweets, pink lollipops. Stacks of the same chocolate bars that Mikhail had given a bleeding Yuri.

A new box of orange tea, which Yuuri had been rationing for the last six months. 

Yuuri Katsuki is proud. He is a proud, proud young man, a stubborn one, who adopted a child while he was practically still a child himself. He doesn’t accept charity, especially from people who don’t have a clue what it’s like.

But help from a proud, proud woman, who has done the same? He is glad, so glad.  
________________________  
Yuuri puts most of the food in the freezer, as much as he can fit, intends to keep this as long as he can. He decides to make enough oyakodon to last them the next couple of days. His arms move automatically, muscle memory, years of cooking alongside his mother who had corrected his chubby hands gently, who could fix any mistake.

Yuri bounds into the kitchen, hair loose. “Can you brush your hair before dinner, sunshine?” Yuuri calls, as he cuts an onion. “Mm,” Yuri says. He must really be hungry, but he never complains. He knows Yuuri’s doing his best. 

“Check the fridge if you’re hungry, baby,” Yuuri says. Stops slicing to watch the look on Yuri’s face as he takes it all in. “Wha-Papa!” he exclaims, aglow.

“Have some yoghurt,” Yuuri laughs “I’m not sure how we’ll finish it all! Shall we invite Otabek ‘round?”

“Yes!” Yuri cries “Yes, yes, yes, yes please!”  
Yuri eats enthusiastically, grains of rice stuck all over his face. Yuuri just laughs, kisses his forehead. Watching his son eat well feels like soaking in sunshine.  
___________________________

CHARACTER LIST AND LIST OF REQUIRED AUDITIONEES: LIST ONE

If your name is under a character on this list, you are required to audition for that character. Speak to Celestino’s PA Paula Pattinson if you have any enquiries.

Puck-  
Artyom Yolkin  
Daniel Zhu  
Pasha Baskin

Oberon-  
Maksim Goryunov  
Iosif Kabinov

Titania-  
Rosamund Smith  
Sabina Koslovskaya  
Adeline Beaulieu

Lysander-  
Ruslan Kabinov  
Iosif Kabinov  
Rowan Lewis  
Pyotr Vikashev

Demetrius-  
Cristian Aiza  
Taras Letov  
Isaiah Thompson 

Hermia-  
Sabina Koslovskaya  
Rada Vetrova  
Yuuri Katsuki 

Helena-  
Sabina Koslovskaya  
Yaroslavla Lapina

Egeus-  
Maksim Goryunov  
Iosif Kabinov  
James d’Souza

Theseus-  
Cristian Aiza  
Taras Leto  
Pyotr Vikashev

Hippolyta-  
Yuuri Katsuki  
Yaroslavla Lapina

CHARACTER LIST AND LIST OF REQUIRED AUDITIONEES: LIST TWO

Pease-blossom-  
Yuuri Katsuki  
Rada Berezina  
Sara Smith

Cobweb-  
Abimbola Davis  
Uliana Vikasheva

Mote-  
Uliana Vikasheva  
Rada Berezina  
Sara Smith

Mustardseed-  
Nadezhda Gagarina  
Abimbola Davis  
Elle d’Souza  
__________________________

Isabella Yang (isabellayang@isabellayangstudios.com) to me 

Hi Lilia!  
I have enclosed the details in my attachment. Was wondering if Katsuki would be willing to dance?  
How are you? We need to catch up!  
Much love,  
Issy xxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
________________________

Isabella Yang (isabellayang@isabellayangstudios.com) to me (brendonatkinson@isabellayangstudios.com)

Hello Brendon,  
Please find the scheduled guests for the next few months. I need lists of arrangements and possible questions and activities from your team by 13/2/17.  
Isabella  
__________________________  
Brendon Atkinson (bredonatkinson88888@gmail.com) to me

Yakov,  
Katsuki is thinking of appearing on the show.  
Brendon  
________________________

Yakov Feltsman (yakovfeltsman@feltsmanandco.com) to me

Victor,  
It’s time to do an interview of your own.

_________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of <3 xxx  
> [TARI MADE ART FOR MY BDAY AND TO BE FUCKING HONEST??? IM??? AAA](http://taritangeo.tumblr.com/post/161517073349/late-birthday-present-gift-for)
> 
> [will tari’s art ever stop being incredible? no is the right answer](http://taritangeo.tumblr.com/post/161098775174/so-in-yoi-manga-leaks-weve-been-blessed-with)
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm sorry if this ending seems cliff-hanger-y? it wasn't meant to be?)
> 
> EDIT: UMMMMM.......WE HIT 2000 KUDOS???? THANKS SO MUCH GUYS <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 IM SO ....... AAAAAAAAAAAA


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!!!! im SO sorry this took so long! exams were Horrendous!! i know i promised this yesterday but i decided I HATED it so i basically rewrote lol  
> I'm still completely overwhelmed with love and gratitude to you all for your comments, kudos, subscriptions, wonderful asks on tumblr, art, playlists, fics in this AU? I'm cry i love you ALL and i hope you enjoy this chapter xxx  
> THIS CHAPTER WAS REALLY HARD FOR ME TO WRITE AND I DONT KNOW WHY  
> massive arigathank you to wrath (link below bc ??? why it not work) and [wrath's link keeps DISOBEYING ME BUT HERE IT IS!!!!](/process.php?d=joV9ulybFlFEgsTZWkLBgdNIeXQSjSRlode802Xa7KH1QjX1OyY5T2tc%2FxXz3qXPUkjllC85iOJcuHOD%2BMnN%2BC9UeyenSJyaSOesBS0yBRJlutU%2BwTJLfoxcpaByujFc38Y7eHBe63mQ9Y9iG%2BMKYFYdCe%2B9E8MztfnqtSohrCAcEGfCFEMB3TvXlu7zDkDSgQAfElHxl1SKVOcMaEywPF0nqzm9Qgo4DKV6qNkF3mF6fj1bQJ8iCbWI3IQPyS0KqZXDlO%2BDPzx2ME%2FJyXbOv6Lsl3eG8ruT15Hvsj8J085SRj2CZpmLi7URYpRChFAYI%2FGsc%2FFktHvcetfcYdtCe29L%2FzPKr8CILs%2FjXtTsxVzBijOUr6o8qVUhNZIth6M9BtnFqMW8XCbaeWGYDpI%2F6L1tkwJc76MKB0D4PQpaXwW4OYQ1A%2BUOFqkhX0UE5hSinJZtVojYXaKYrjuvXCZd%2BcZ6HUR0VNVXv1lOu2xUPqtnbtwOGQiZXcUec2FNmnuZd8Kw6mFYgLjCZqt9P1GQVOfQmUJxJrV%2BcNMsUADgtY9ljDmzkU5l6MASk%2FZUoRMh%2BkhBjknqwY5tTtHl9Zb5&b=1)
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING there is a (wishy-washy) description of a panic attack in this, skip from 'a lot of hype' to 'salty kisses' if u don't want to read it xxx

Yuuri stares at the audition list the following morning-blinks, expecting the words to blur out and disappear. They don’t, staring defiantly in neat little rows of black ink.

What the hell. 

_What the hell._

He doesn’t know what’s going on, feels like he’ll turn around and see the threatening eye of a camera lens; _you’re on Punk’d! How does it feel to know you aren’t good enough to get any of those roles? How does it feel to fight a millionaire? Mr Katsuki, can we have five minutes of your tim-_

“He’s just got a lot of hype around him at the moment, he isn’t even that great of a dancer,” someone grumbles. _Me? Does he mean me? He must- I’m not- I can_ \- the world is blurring like smudged watercolour around him and he is at the epicentre of it all and he can’t _do_ anything about it.

That unwelcome, familiar car-engine feeling, shudder shudder stop, crash and burn is crawling into his lungs and it _hurts_. His face feels hot, his hands feel hot, and there is sound and touch and noise and noise and noise and it is _too much._

“I,” he starts, never finishes, his feet stumble, and now he’s running. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows it’s away.

He finds himself in the toilets, bursts into a stall, air warm and claggy in his throat like it’s bubbling through mud. Yuuri drops to his knees and retches over the toilet bowl, body seizing and eyes watering. _I can’t, I can’t, what if I mess up and then I lose my job and then I can’t feed Yuri and th-_

“Papa? Papa, it’s me, it’s Yuri, can I come in?”  a tiny voice says, and the part of Yuuri which isn’t self destructing wants to scream because weak weak _weak_ , your child is outside and scared and you are quivering like a _kicked stray_. 

“I”m opening the door, okay, Papa? It’s just me,” Yuri says. He edges inside, eyes widening for a split second when he sees Yuuri. “Can I touch you?” he says, kneeling next to him. He sounds completely calm. In moments like this, Yuuri feels like the child.

“Yes, of c-course, my lov-ve,” Yuuri tries to smile tearfully at him, only to start heaving again, gripping the cold porcelain hard, breath grating the flesh of his throat.

Yuri traces a cool, careful hand over his back. “In, out, in, out, Papa,” he says softly. 

Yuuri breathes with him, the rattle of his lungs eventually smoothing out, hiccups settling.

He opens his arms wide, and Yuri settles into them. They sit there a while, on the cold bathroom tile. A tap is dripping. The world unravels to the tune of the steady _plink plink plink_ of water, and he can breathe. 

“You’re the best Papa in the whole world,” Yuri mumbles eventually “and the best dancer in the history of ever,”

Yuuri smiles, pressing salty kisses against his cheek.

______________________________________

Celestino Cialdini: I really believe you can dance these parts, Yuuri. 

Celestino Cialdini: I wouldn’t have asked you to audition otherwise.

Celestino Cialdini: I know that there’s a lot going on 

Celestino Cialdini: But you’re capable.

_____________________________________

Victor’s back in Yakov’s office for the third time in a day. It’s uncomfortably humid in the room, sweat puddling in the creases of his elbows and his neck, dampening his collar. Yakov is muttering and grumbling as he types something out on his laptop, mopping his forehead every so often. 

“What we really need, of course, is for your interview to be before Katsuki’s, so we can get people cooing over you-“  

“Am I going to Mathias’ show, then? The one hosted by that ginger girl?” Victor says, pleased. They have playful chemistry and she seemed to like him, in more ways than one. _She wasn’t really my type, though,_ Victor thinks _a bit dumb._

“As soon as we can get you on it. My leak says that nothing has actually been confirmed yet, and people are saying Isabella’s relying on Baranovskaya talking him into it. So there’s a good chance we can get you on there first.” Yakov says grimly.

“Thank god, so that’s all sorted then?” Victor sighs, stretching his legs, exhausted. 

“Don’t get complacent,” Yakov glares “and don’t underestimate Baranovskaya. She knows that you’re getting a TV interview too,”

“What? How?!” Victor shoots up. He doesn’t think any of Yakov’s employees would dare leak anything, for fear of Yakov ruining their lives. And their parents’ lives. And their third-cousin-twice-removed's life.

“Because she’s smart, you idiot. She’s fucking good at her job, much as I loathe to admit it,” Yakov grumbles, typing his email out twice as aggressively. 

_____________________________________

Me: I’ll do it

Lilia Baranovskaya: Brilliant. All day saturday. I’ll have someone pick you up at 6 am.

_____________________________________

Me: Thanks, Celestino. I will audition. I’m sorry for today. 

Celestino Cialdini: You don’t have to apologise, Yuuri. And I’m glad!!!!!!!!

Me: Can i have saturday off? I’m sorry, i’ve got a TV interview

Celestino Cialdini: sure, any way you could stay late on Friday for choreo catch up? it’ll only take u a few hours to learn

Me: Yes of course.

_____________________________________

Me: audition list

Minako-sensei: Congrats Yuuri!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 :D

Me: thank you sensei<3

Minako-sensei: hippolyta/hermia are both really good roles!!!!!

Minako-sensei:you would look beautiful as pease-blossom

Minako-sensei: I'm so proud! How's the kid?

Me: he's good. He seems to be dealing with the situation better than me.

Minako-sensei: it is a parent's duty to worry and a child's to be carefree. You are a good father.

_____________________________________

Yuuri strikes his finishing pose. He is turning away in defiance from his enraged father, who is demanding he marry Demetrius, a man he cannot love. His father is powerful, and she is not. But he is brave, he is a woman of strength, of courage, and his will shall not be trampled underfoot. He screams it with the slope of his wrists, the jut of his jaw, the tight line of his neck.

“Papa! Papa, that was amazing!” Yuri cries, bounding up to meet him, kanji book face-down four feet away, completely forgotten.

“I’m agreeing with Yura,” Celestino says warmly, “that was magnificent, Yuuri,”

Yuuri smiles. Of all three roles he’s auditioning for, Hermia’s ‘Dad You Just Don’t Get Me’ dance (as nicknamed by Phichit) is one of his favourites. He bows jokingly at Yuri, who bursts into a fit of screechy giggles. Yup, Yuuri thinks grimly, it’s gonna be a long night.

They’d stayed late that night for Celestino to show Yuuri the audition choreography. Celestino’s brought Yuri a pizza and a big packet of jelly beans, which Yuri had eaten by the handful. Yuri is now bouncing around the room like a ping pong ball in a sugar-induced euphoria, shrieking with delight. 

“You were like bam, and _bam_ , and _spin_ and _change_ and BOING!” Yuri yells, demonstrating wildly. 

“Alright, thank you sunshine, can you please sit down so Papa can do the next dance?” Yuuri wheedles, grinning wide. Yuri hops over to the barre, where he busies himself with practising his own positions (“Excellent form, Yura!” Celestino says. “I know,” Yuri replies) and seeing how long he can spin before falling over and giggling in a heap on the floor. Yuuri rolls his eyes fondly before taking position once more.

______________________________________

“Let’s go home, Yura. It’s past bedtime,” The sun has already gone down. Yuri’s finally crashed, slumped against the mirror, eyes closed. The fact that Yuri doesn’t protest in the slightest shows Yuuri how truly tired he is.“C’mon,” Yuuri says softly “thanks, Celestino!”

The streets are surprisingly empty for a Friday night, and their bus even emptier. The silence and steady sway of their journey quickly lulls Yuri to sleep. Yuuri is fighting to stay awake himself; every muscle stone-heavy and sore.

“Five more minutes,” Yuri mumbles, when Yuuri nudges him.

“Come on, my love, you’re too big for Papa to carry now,”

Somehow Yuuri bundles his tired seven year old off the bus and up the stairs. Yuri brushes his teeth before collapsing into their bed, falling asleep almost instantly, toothpaste still around his mouth. “Sunshine, you need to get changed,” Yuuri whispers. Yuri snores in reply. 

He wriggles off Yuri’s jeans and swaps them for a pair of fuzzy pyjama bottoms. Yuuri’ll have to get him showered in the morning.

___________________________________

Brendon Atkinson (bredonatkinson88888@gmail.com) to me

Katsuki’s got an interview today.

___________________________________

“No,” Yuri crosses his arms “I want to wear this,”

“Yuri, _please_ stop being difficult. That’s literally the only t-shirt you can’t wear, it hasn’t been washed, and it’s got a tomato stain on the front,” Yuuri groans, resisting the urge to give up and just let him wear the damn thing. It’s five in the morning. The sun hasn’t even risen, and Yuri hasn’t had enough sleep so he’s crabby and cross. They’ve been bickering for a strong twenty minutes about a bloody t-shirt. Yuuri doesn’t need another reason for people to try and take Yuri away- _he hasn’t even got his son in a clean t-shirt, what kind of parent is he?_  but Yuri is in one of his rare moods, which means he is determined to argue with Yuuri about every single thing. Yuuri himself is tense like a drawn bowstring and Yuri’s griping is not helping his mood.

 “Why not this one? It has Bumblebee on it!” Yuuri tries, only for Yuri to recoil melodramatically, like a cat from a spray bottle. Yuuri’s fast running out of patience; can feel himself about to blow.

“I hate Bumblebee, his voice is weird. I want to wear this shirt.” Yuri himself is creeping closer to danger point, face getting redder and redder.

“I’m going to count until ten, and if you haven’t dropped that t shirt and picked up another, Beka isn’t allowed to come over next week,” Yuuri warns. Yuri screws his face up, mouth pulled into an ugly grimace.

“You’re a meanie!  I don’t even want to go to the stupid show!” Yuri shouts at him, stomping his foot hard.

“Neither do I, Yuri, but we have to because otherwise Victor will win this court case, so _stop_ being ridiculous and _start behaving_!” Yuuri snaps. He registers what he just said, overs his mouth with both hands. Yuri looks shell-shocked, blue eyes wide and wet.

Yuuri is disgusted with himself.

“I’m so sorry, love, I just- Papa’s stressed, I’m sorry,” Yuuri crouches down opposite Yuri, tries to look him in the eyes. Yuri turns his head away. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it,” Yuuri tries. This is whole situation is just as hard on his son as it is on him and here he is taking it out on the boy. 

“He won’t take me away, will he?” Yuri says in a little voice, staring hard out of the window. Yuuri’s heart breaks.

“No,” Yuuri swallows, “no, I’d never let him,”

___________________________________

The intern dodges the paperweight this time.

___________________________________

They’re silent until they reach the studio. 

A tiny hand reaches for his. 

“Love you,” Yuri whispers, squeezing tight.

“I love you more, sunshine,”

___________________________________

“Hello, gorgeous! My name’s Isabella!” a tall, pretty woman coos, pinching Yuri’s cheek. Yuri looks thoroughly unimpressed. They’d both been kidnapped by the makeup department the minute they walked through the doors, and Yuuri had done Yuri’s hair while the makeup artist (“Call me Ro!” had tried to touch Yuri’s hair and he limboed under her hand) buffed something aggressively sparkly into his cheeks (“I really want to capitalise on the fact you’re a dancer, y’know?” Yuuri had nodded, bewildered), yanked his glasses off (“You don’t need to be able to read, it’s fine!”) and put so much hairspray in his hair that he’s pretty sure it would catch fire if he was in direct sunlight. 

Yuri’s relatively unscathed, but he’d painted his own nails a sparkly orange while Yuuri was distracted, and managed to get it all over his fingers. Yuuri’s frantically wiping at it when he hears the click of high heels striding towards them. Lilia stood there, with the woman who is now offering a hand to Yuuri.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she says again, in a very different tone. She winks at Yuuri, who feels himself flush. “Ooh, I love what Ro’s done with your eyeliner! The purple makes your eyes look lovely!” Isabella says, as she leads them into an office. It’s clean cut and minimalistic, all shiny chrome and glass. There is a small crew who are fiddling with cameras and microphones and lights, a small woman who reminds Yuuri of Paula is barking orders at people. Yuuri is thoroughly intimidated.

“Sit down, sit down,” Isabella flaps her hands “have some grapefruit juice! It’s freshly squeezed!” 

Yuuri looks at the black suede sofa. He feels like he’s dirtying it just by being in its vicinity. 

Lilia sits neatly on an armchair, smoothly pulls out her laptop like a sword from a scabbard. Yuuri perches awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, but Fake Paula bullies him into sitting properly with a glare. They're given microphones, much to Yuri's delight, who entertains himself by doing James Bond impressions while Yuuri signs the flurry of paper that is thrust in his face.

“Right! Finally! So, I’m going to ask where you’re from, about your upbringing and dance and all that good stuff,” Isabella pauses ,gauging his reaction. Yuuri nods. “Then I’m going to ask how you got to be in Russia and met Yuri, then about Victor, the leak of your health records and all your online support,”

Yuuri swallows. He’d rather skip the leak, but he knows it’s important to address it himself. “Yura? Any problems?” he says instead.

“Nope,” Yuri says, playing with the wire on his microphone.

“This isn’t one take, Yuuri. If there's something you change your mind about, we can take it out,” Lilia says, looking straight into his eyes. 

“Right,” Yuuri breathes “right.” 

"Fabulous! Let's get started!" Isabella trills.

__________________________

**@isabellayangstudios**

Had a very emotional interview with @yuurikatsuki18 and his son. **Watch here**

**@kriti__sinha**

That interview actually killed me. 

**@roroMUA**

WHY IS THE WORLD SO CRUEL TO THOSE POOR BOYS #TeamKatuski SO MUCH <3

**@zutterrettuz**

Still team victor. Something’s not adding up.

**@JHOPEFAN4444**

@zutterrettuz get tae fuck

**@hothothotaru**

ヴィクトルニキフォロフが死んだ

**@victorsbabygirl2002**

There are ppl who have gon thru wose things tho just saying :/ #katsukiinterview

**@okaybutihateutoo**

ngl i was pro katsuki b4 but tired of his sob story

**@tangerinehinata**

#prokatsuki

**@lollipoop**

140 caractères ne suffisent pas à exprimer comment je me sens.

_________________________

Your Mentions:

**@dropitlikeitsmildlywarm**

@therealnikiforov die

**@vickynickyfan2000**

@therealnikiforov i love u angel 

**@rlo90**

@therealnikiforov scum

**@hugmeimnotscared**

When you’re having a good time but rmbr @therealnikiforov exists :( 

**@neverwili3v3grr**

I love you @therealnikiforov stay strong baby!!!!

**@ochlan89**

fucking kill yourself @therealnikiforov

**@rdxdropfam55**

i hate @therealnikiforov tho?

___________________________

Victor knows this is a shitty idea. Victor knows, but it’s 2 AM, he’s had half a bottle of gin, he has his car keys. All he wants to see is a flash of blond hair, and hear a “hello,”. He swears, he swears, he swears. 

___________________________

Yuuri starts awake. He could have sworn he heard something. There’s a loud thump on the door. Is he imagining this? “Wuzz happen?” Yuri grumbles from beside him. There’s another bang, and Yuuri shoots bolt upright. 

“Stay here.” he says quietly but firmly, giving Yuri the phone. 

“Wha-? Papa-”

“Yuri, stay put. If I tell you to, call the police.” Yuri’s face mirrors the terror that Yuuri has trapped in his own stomach. 

Yuuri creeps slowly towards the front door clutching a saucepan, hands sweating but steady. _Yuri needs me to be calm_ , he tells himself. Every part of him wants to flee, but he forces himself to move forward.

Whoever it is hasn’t stopped thumping for the past two minutes, the door sloping from the force of the blows.“What do you want?!” Yuuri shouts. There’s a pause.

“J-jus’ lemme see him. Please,” a man slurs, beating the door again, “please, I just- I want-”

“What?!” _Him? Was this guy at the wrong house? He sounds completely drunk! Should I call the police?_ Yuuri tries to think rationally, but the banging makes it impossible. 

“For two seconds, I swe-I swea-he’s my son, you can’ jus’, jus’...”

“Victor Nikiforov?” Yuuri says, disbelieving. He hears him lean hard against the door, slide down it.

“Please,” Victor says, muffled, and it sounds like a sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fingerguns* hope you have a lovely day/night! see you next chap! xxx  
> [@metalpole on tumblr made an ](/process.php?d=joV9ulybFlFEgsTZWkLBgdNIeXQSjSRlode802Xa7KH1QjX1OyY5T2tc%2FxXz3qXPUkjllC85iOJcuHOD%2BMnN%2BC9UeyenSJyaSOesBS0yBRJlutU%2BwTJLfoxcpaByujFc38Y7eHBe63mQ9Y9iG%2BMKYFYdCe%2B9E8MztfnqtSohrCAcEGfCFEMB3TvXlu7zDkDSgQAfElHxl1SKVOcMaEywPF0nqzm9Qgo4DKV6qNkF3mF6fj1bQJ8iCbWI3IQPyS0KqZXDlO%2BDPzx2ME%2FJyXbOv6Lsl3eG8ruT15Hvsj8J085SRj2CZpmLi7URYpRChFAYI%2FGsc%2FFktHvcetfcYdtCe29L%2FzbZv9ePKdvnRMTg71upqDOWga08qT0iJoYtv8MwGsedqMuiVzvgdkKrMa196%2FRAwVJ32JY8JXW3XUxGIRS2Pp80Kod8JIxjJ2lgkQ6fwNUXTszzLP%2F7%2FRWtFSQ4zdEqDEVOXOgZhTxm61ZEHrMhV7gKRyuJGvpiFxQWkXefAa%2Fr61Iyt%2BS4Ae8PSwHmcdr2v2BDEYZ4WME3aCyFpLt94iG4vHId8aoS3KoDqz1x%2BlZXkBmVhOEnEIbH%2FeLh1Jnqrc7Gayd1YI3oyUT%2B%2BqUK1eFEK5RcMJ6ofulCmOrSovxgvaGcTE%2FfYw%3D%3D&b=1)[inCREDIBLE MIX,,,,,,,,](https://metalpole.tumblr.com/post/159988098386/i-have-made-a-mix-on-soundcloud-ugh-but-what-can)<3
> 
> [GORGEOUS GORGEOUS ART](http://un-dementor.tumblr.com/post/161725483969/i-did-something-for-icanhinatashouyoutheworld-s) BY @un-dementor
> 
> ((BTW THANKS TO @[celestial_lens](http://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_lens/pseuds/celestial_lens)WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO LINK IM LOV U))


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hEY GUYS HOW YALL DOIN I HOPE U'RE DOIN GOOD XXX HAPPY PRIDE!  
> thank you thank you thank you as always to all you lovely lovely people who comment, kudo, subscribe, bookmark, write lovely things in this verse, make art, mixes and LOTS OF OTHER INCREDIBLE STUFF IM LOV U ALL xxx big up wrath (APPARENTLY I CANT LINK ANYMORE WTF BUT HIS AO3 IS IN CHAP 6 also if u havent read stammi vicino pls do urself a favour) for making me confident enough to post this im LOV HAVING ANXIETY AHAHHA  
> WARNING: this chapter contains implied sexual activity + implied alcohol abuse. if that's not your scene, please feel free to message me on tumblr and i'll give u a chap summary!!! <3  
> hope u enjoy!! <3

Victor Nikiforov is indestructible.

He is more than the front cover of Vogue, more than the New York fashion week catwalk. He is a force of nature in his own right.

He was spotted in a coffeeshop, aged 15, hair a smear of quicksilver across the grey city landscape. _You’re a different kind of pretty_ , a three piece suit and folder tells him _your own kind of pretty_. He had been affronted. After all, which fifteen year old boy wants to be called pretty? Pretty was for girls, not the captain of the football team. The woman slid a business card onto the table before he could open his mouth. “Come see us,” Suit Lady had said. He shoved it into his bag, carried his mum’s coffee to her office carefully. She smiles brightly at him, braids his hair to match hers on her lunch break. _The same beautiful hair,_ her colleagues had cooed, _what a wonderful colour!_ Victor had puffed up with pride, swept it over his shoulder.

Life was easy. Life was sweet, like the smell of burning sugar in his lungs, like the softness of his mum’s perfume. Life was lavender and rose and a garden of good. Victor played guitar with fingers that fumbled until they did not, he bought a vintage denim jacket with money from his newspaper round. The shopkeeper gave him a discount in exchange for a grin. There was a girl in his life and then a boy and then they both left. The cycle repeated. Victor didn’t care, not while he’s sixteen, young and beautiful with a mouthful of honey. There were parties, alcohol warm from being hidden under beds and in cupboards, lips warm from cheap vodka and the unrelenting buzz in their veins. Sixteen when he first kissed a girl. Sixteen when he first kissed a boy. Sixteen when he learnt the taste of another’s skin, sixteen when someone sank their teeth into his own. He fell in love with people and fell out of love with them overnight, a paper boat drifting in the breeze. He loved it, he loved it. Everything was black-and-white movie perfect, until it was not.

“Sometimes, people fall out of love with each other,” Victor’s father had said, looking older than he had ever seen. All that was left of his mother was the smell of perfume and a smudge of red  lipstick on a pillowcase. The room glowed pink through the curtains (her choice) that Friday morning.

“Right,” Victor had said. He went to school, scored a hat trick in his football game. Does his paper round, goes to a party. Hair tied back, jeans tight, top two buttons open- locked and loaded, armed and dangerous.

He was wild that night. Moved sinuously against one body then another, songs blending into a rhythmic mush in the back of his head. He felt the stares, relished them. The boy he was with (the boy he fell into) laughed loud. He’s a lot older, cigarette in one hand, Victor’s hip in the other. Victor’s not sure why he’s at a high school party. Someone’s brother, perhaps. He’s cool, girls giggled, but he’s Victor’s now. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” the boy whispered into his neck, after Victor had danced and danced until he was dizzy with it. His hands were rough around Victor’s waist, on the dip of his collarbone, playing his ribs like piano keys on someone else’s bed. Victor shuts his eyes, whiskey saturated. “How easy is it to fall out of love with someone?” he asked the ceiling, voice drawn tight like a bow string.

“You’ll find out tomorrow morning,” the boy purred mockingly into the skin of his thigh.

Victor kicked him.

____________________________________

Life was stained whiskey-gold, burnt and bitter and unpleasant and addicting on his tongue. Life was the sound of football practise without him in it, hearing the cheers and shouts and curses from far far away. Life was the spill of light into the corridor as his father locked himself in the study and worked through the night. Life is the spin of the room even though he’s standing still, like the world’s moving without him, like everybody’s leaving him behind.

“You poor things,” her old colleagues clucked “I never saw that coming!”

They brought them vats of soup and stew and apple pudding; were ravenous for gossip.

“Thank you,” Victor’s father said, jaw locked. “I didn’t either,”

They never visited twice.

 _Talk to someone_ , the bedroom floor told him. He’s at a stranger’s house. He’d drank anything handed to him.

He felt cold. He felt alone. He felt like he was in somebody else’s skin. 

“Who?” Victor whispered, clutching at the carpet.

“You know it’s not your fault, right, Vitya?” his father said one night. It’d been a month. Victor had stumbled home to find him waiting on the dinner table. The house is cold and his dad isn’t wearing a jumper. Gooseflesh is crawling across his arms, and Victor ached for him. “Your mother made her own decision. It was a cruel decision, but it was a firm decision,” his father continued, looking him directly in the eye, blue like his own.

“Dad, I-” Victor said, stuttered, couldn’t. 

“It’s okay, Vitya,” his dad said gently, “it’s okay,”

Victor choked out a sob and threw himself into his arms. If his dad could smell the whiskey, he never said anything.

Victor finds his feet. He goes out less, spends more time curled in the chair in his dad’s study, bringing him mugs of tea. Everything equalises, but that doesn’t mean everything’s okay.They weren’t struggling for money but his dad worked until he passed out at his desk/

“I don’t understand,” Victor said to the walls. 

_Give him time to grieve_ , the walls replied.

_______________________________

His eyes tricked him into thinking there are silver flashes around the corner, a tinkling laugh, kind pale hands. Sometimes he opened the front door and saw her blue coat hanging on the rail in the corridor for one, two, three seconds. Sometimes he pushed the rail over, breathing hard. Sometimes he sat on the floor until he heard his dad pull up outside.

That flow of silver haunts him; follows him like the trail of a sparkler.

He opened an old chemistry textbook the summer of the following year. The card was sitting there, grubby around the edges. PV Agencies, followed by a smudged address. “I might as well try,” Victor told his dad over dinner.

“I’m not stopping you, Vitya. But are you sure this is what you want? You’ve never mentioned anything like this,” he replied through a mouthful of mashed potato.

Victor shrugged. “No harm in trying something new,”

His dad came with him to the building. The outside is unassuming, but the inside is covered with massive photographs.The words Chanel and Prada and Versace are spattered everywhere. “Should we go to the front desk or something?” his dad muttered. Victor felt incredibly overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to suggest that they walk straight back out again.

“I knew you’d come around,” 

There’s Suit Lady, folder in hand.

________________________________

Everything is a blur from there. He had test shoots (“A formality,” Suit Lady who he now knows as Eva Popović ) and has a five year contract in front of him before he can say “Balenciaga”.  Victor’s not sure if he likes Eva or not. An odd mix of condescending, bossy and kind; she was both infuriating and affable. Eva regularly over to his house, sympathetic to the fact that Victor’s dad couldn’t take him to PV.

“Step one,” Eva said to him “is building up a portfolio. I’m putting you under my most trusted manager, and he’ll organise shoots in the next couple of weeks,”

“You aren’t gonna manage me?” Victor blurted. 

“I’m a bit busy running the whole company, sweetie. He should arrive within the next ten minutes,” Eva says (there’s the condescension he knows and doesn’t love). She continued grilling him about the next week’s schedule until there’s a knock on the door.

“H _-Georgi_?” Victor said, aghast.  

“Nikiforov,” Georgi growls. Georgi’s somewhat of a celebrity at their school. Everything from the hair and the eye makeup to the dramatic professions of love in the middle of the corridor to some poor soul named Anya means that everybody knew who he was.

They had once butted heads over the funding to the theatre department. Georgi had demanded more money for their spring show, Victor pointed out that they barely had a cast and that the football team wanted more uniforms. The football team had won. Since then Victor had been Georgi’s “ _sworn enemy_ ”. Victor hadn’t cared in the slightest, but the melodramatic huffing every time they saw each other (which was a lot, they were in the same Maths set) got old quickly.

“I’m not managing him,” Georgi said, eyes narrowed. His eye makeup was purple and smudged enough that it looked like someone had taken two hefty swings to his face. “He’s literally the same age as me, how’s he gonna be my manager?!” Victor protested. Eva took a deep breath.

“Right, before we do anything, the pair of you get inside and stop squawking like demented parrots,” she snapped, tugging Georgi inside. Victor flopped onto the sofa, Georgi stood rod-stiff on the opposite side of the room. “I can see that you both know each other. Georgi is my nephew, Victor. Georgi, Victor is our next big model,” Eva said, words clipped.

Georgi sniffed. “You know that his face will sell, Georgi. I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about Victor earlier,”

“Just because he’s a little bit pretty doesn’t m-”

“You know, Georgi.” Eva maintained “Victor, Georgi has been in my office since he could walk. He knows this industry in and out. He shadow-managed a model that just got the cover of Vogue,” Victor had raised his eyebrows. It was hard to imagine _anyone_ taking Georgi seriously enough to get someone to the cover of the most famous magazine in the world.

“I still don’t like it,” Georgi grumbled. 

“Tough,” Eva said with a smile.

Eva forced them to meet at a cafe the next day. Victor arrived to find Georgi already there, looking thoroughly impatient.

“First rule of this industry, Nikiforov,” he griped as Victor plonked himself across from him “get everywhere an hour before the time you were given,”

“What the- how was I supposed to know that?!” Victor demanded. Georgi shrugged and sipped his latte, oversized sunglasses clacking against the rim of the glass. 

“So, first things first,” Georgi said, pulling out a notebook “I know Eva told you your first shoot was the day after tomorrow, but the photographers I really want for you are going to need you there tomorrow too,”

“That’s okay,” Victor said. Not like he was going to be doing anything anyway. Georgi looked surprised momentarily, before carrying on. They run through everything that’s going to happen the next day.

“Here’s my number. I’m going to pick you up at 6. The shoot’s not far. And finally,” Georgi rummages around in his bag “wash your hair with these,” 

Georgi plopped five bottles on the table. Victor blinks at them.

“Wha-”

“Hair oil- put this in as soon as you get home- then a hydrating mask, because your split ends are _terrible_ , two shampoos- mix them both, conditioner. This,” he shakes a luminous pink bottle “is for tomorrow morning. Use it as soon as you get up. Don’t spray too much or you’ll suffocate small animals as you walk past. Ciao!”

Victor sees his reflection in the glass of the bottles. He looks a lot more composed than he feels.

 __________________________

“Right,” Georgi had said, swinging into an empty parking lot. They’re in front of a forest. Victor had previously considered the possibility of Georgi being a serial killer, and it’s seeming more likely than ever. Victor’s going to die here at the hands of a purple-lipsticked fashionista with his hair looking the shiniest it’s ever looked.

“Oh, he’s here!” Georgi said, delighted. Victor turned and saw the man who changed his life.

Christophe Giacometti, tongue quick, shutter finger quicker. He had rushed up to the car and stroked Victor’s hair. “Gorgeous,” he muttered, eyes darting from his face to his chest.

“Let’s get going,”

His first shoot was him sitting in a patch of wildflowers, in a tree, on a bridge; toes dipped in a stream. Glitter high on his cheeks, hair loose, barefoot, eyes half-lidded. There’s blood on his knees from tripping on the gravel, running down his shin.  “You look like an elven warrior,” his dad had grinned, ever the geek. Victor had smiled back.

The next shoot had the same feel in a different way; Victor in the driver’s seat of a vintage red Chevy, lashes long, shirt loose. He had to get in and out of the damn thing so many times his wrist cramps up, but Chris gets a picture of him where he “look like you know something the rest of the world doesn’t,” Chris murmured, staring at the camera in awe. Victor adjusts his ponytail. “Maybe I do,” he said with a wink.

They graduate. Victor doesn’t apply to university, learns how to apply mascara instead.

Victor is called _ethereal_ , he is called _untouchable_. The shoots launch both his and Chris’s careers. Victor is soon relearning how to walk. His usual stroll isn’t good enough for Tom Ford, Georgi had snapped in a way that Victor knew meant he was joking. They’d become fond of each other in a way, though spending all your time with someone eventually does that. 

Eighteen years old, glossy lipped and doe-eyed, he’s praised for his ‘daringly feminine’ appearance. He models floral skirts for Chanel Spring/Summer 2015. He drinks cigarette smoke and the smell of hairspray; devours the sour glares of catwalk girls. Their hate tastes bittersweet on his tongue.

Victor’d flown home after New York fashion week, had collapsed on his bed. His dad knocked tentatively on his door. “Georgi’s screaming. It seems important,” he said sheepishly.

“H-”

“BURBERRY. YOU’RE GOING TO BE THE FACE OF BURBERRY!” Georgi screeched down the line.

Burberry is what catapulted Victor into the public eye. The picture of him wearing nothing but a trenchcoat, hair outlined in gold from firelight was pasted in magazines, on billboards. Chris had won awards for that picture. He gets calls from hundreds of brands. Georgi’s got two PAs just to manage Victor with him.

Victor doesn’t ignore criticism. When a supermodel says that he only gets booked for his hair, he does three shoots with it hidden way in a hat. When a makeup artist says that his looks are boring, he wears fluorescent eyeliner and tags them in every single picture; starts a worldwide trend on twitter (#PettyinPink). Opposing him becomes a surefire way to strangle your career. He’s an icon. First Burberry, then Pantene, Chanel, Versace- he doesn’t just take the world by storm, he’s a tsunami, breaks down the landscape then rebuilds in his own name. His fanbase is massive and dedicated, floods airports whether he’s in Paris or Poland.

He lives in penthouses, in St Petersburg and New York and London. Victor’s never anywhere for longer than a week. He bought his dad a whitewashed house with a vegetable patch in a small village. He tries to call him at least once every few days. His dad’s made friends with the old couple next door, with the lady who runs the greengrocers. He’s happy.

Victor returned to their old house to collect the last of his stuff (“Closure,” his Georgi-ordered therapist said), dodging paparazzi left and right.

He opened the front door.

There was a blue coat hanging on the rail in the corridor.

There was a woman sitting on the stairs. She stood up slowly when she saw him. 

“Vitya,” she breathes. She looked fine. A wedding ring winks at him; not the same one that sat on her finger for sixteen years. Her hair is pulled into a neat bun. She looked fine. She didn’t look remorseful, or broken, or unhappy. She looked fine.

He wanted to punch her, he wanted to hug her. He did neither of these things.

“Vitya, I’m sorry. I should have said something. I’ve regretted leaving these past few years. You look well,”

Victor says nothing. 

“I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me, but I just- I’d like to get to know you again. I’m your mother, I never-”

“Get out.” Victor grits through his teeth.

She looks startled. “Wha-”

“I said get out.” Victor’s anger is overboiling; bursts out of his eyes, his mouth.

“Vitya, please. It’s been so hard, seeing your face on all these mag-”

“Get out!” he yells, picks up the rail, throws it hard against the wall. She screams, stumbles past him, shrinking away like a wild animal.

 His memory from then is snapshotted like Christophe’s photographs. He is in his car, he is at home, he’s woken up with a pounding headache and his hair scattered like spilled spare change around him. There are hunks of it all over the flat. Victor runs his fingers through what’s left. It’s uneven, close to the scalp in parts and long in others. There’s dried blood on his neck. “Fuck,” he laughs _“fuck!”_

Georgi sucks his teeth when he sees him. He’d let himself in after Victor had ignored all of his calls and skipped his interview with MTV. “I’m calling Mila,” he says finally “she’ll fix it.”

“What am I going to do, Georgi?” Victor asks from the floor.

“We’ll change your image,” Georgi says.

Mila cuts him him a fringe that he can sweep over his eyes, crops his hair close to his neck at back and sides. It made his jaw more square, his whole body seem heavier. It makes him look like a stranger.

__________________________________

“So what happened then? Why this sudden change- not that anyone’s complaining, right ladies?” the ginger girl gave the audience a wink. He laughed politely. “Who knows?” he said  “it was time to grow up, I think,”

 __________________________________

He is called _heartbreaker_ , he is called _devilish_ , he is a combination of burning blue and silver that pulls heartstrings like weeds from the ground.  The nymph-like boy is gone, replaced with a man that commands a room with the tilt of his chin. He wears Italian suits on the cover of Vogue. He drinks expensive whiskey with Italian girls after shoots. Sometimes at 3 am Victor tries to wrap his hair around his wrists, then remembers.

Victor stops going home at night. Magazine headlines scream about his latest escapades: “Nikiforov’s Tahitian Beau”  “Victor’s next victim: the heir of the MSA empire”. Nobody resents him for anything, not even when he wraps his Maserati around a lamppost outside of a school.

That’s when he was first arrested. That’s when Georgi first called Yakov.

After Yakov, Victor does whatever the fuck he wants. He still goes to shoots, but he doesn’t care about who’s wife he kisses in public, about how fast he drives his car. Yakov’s like a mastiff he can unleash on any judge. Georgi hates it. Georgi asks him to stop. Victor promises he will once, twice, three times, before he gets an email from PV saying that he has a new manager. The poor thing never stood a chance, lasts for two months before tearfully resigning. Victor does what he wants. Victor Nikiforov is indestructible.

Victor Nikiforov is indestructible, hairspray-hardened, ruthlessly carved his path to fame with sticky pink lipgloss and suit ties and trampled whoever stood in his way. Victor Nikiforov is indestructible.

Outside a worn-down door in St Petersburg, Victor Nikiforov breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap was called 'Poetic Chap 7 While I Stare At Cute Undercut Girl'  
> seriously it is the Month of The LGBT+ isnt someone supposed to fall in love with me  
> hope u enjoyed!!! have lovely day/night <3 <3 <3 xxx  
> 
> 
> [amazing wonderfuL BINKTOP ART](https://saltier-than-thou.tumblr.com/post/161824920332/ok-so-i-drew-a-thing-from) by @saltier-than-thou
> 
> [GLITERRY BEAUTIFUL BINKTOP](https://mmeishi.tumblr.com/post/162226441021/added-watermark-bc-its-been-bugging-me-and-i) by @mmeishi


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE IT'S ME,,,,,, A THOUSAND YEARS LATE  
> and I HATE THIS because it is a BUILD UP CHAPTER AAA FORGOVE ME  
> im so sorry this is so late, guys. I've been so busy with end of term stuff and someone very close to me hasn't been very well aaaa  
> this OWNT HAPPEN AGAIN UNLESS YKNOW.....SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS BECAUSE IM ON SUMMER BREAK NOW WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
> I'm replying to the comments RIGHT NOW THIS SECOND I  
> i love you all lots and lots. thank you so much to everyone who comments and kudos-es and bookmarks and arts and musics and translates and god knows what else for this fic. you guys are the best. love you <3

“Victor you have to go,” Yuuri’s voice wobbles like a tightrope walker, words inching their way round the lump lodged in his throat. He never dreamed that anything like this would happen. Katsuki Yuuri, King of Speculation, never even considered that Victor would turn up _drunk at his door._ Victor just groans in response,

“Vic-”

“Please,” Victor slams against the wood once more“jus-just fiv-I just. Just let me have him,” 

_Let me have him._

Panic seizes Yuuri by the throat and squeezes tight.

“Go!” Yuuri screams, fear surging through the blockade in his lungs and spat like acid “Go! I will call the fucking police, I _swear_ to fucking God! Get the fuck out of here!”

“ _Papa_?!” Yuuri can hear Yuri shriek, wants to lock them both in their bedroom, wants to whisk them both to Neverland.

“Stay where you are!” Yuuri shouts instead “Victor, I’m giving you ‘til ten to get the hell away!” 

“I d-”

There’s a sudden bang, heavy _thump thump thum_ p of footsteps along the corridor. Yuuri grips the handle of the pan harder. 

“Come on, you stupid boy!” someone growls- is that Yakov? 

“Yak-no, I don’ wan’” Victor slurs, protests getting quieter. 

“Move it!” Yakov hisses. More scuffling. A yelp of pain. The sound of stumbling. Then silence.

Yuuri peers under the door. There’s nobody there. His fingers graze the cool metal of the latch. Should he run outside and check?

“Papa?” 

Yuuri turns, sees the crumpled, pale face standing at the end of the corridor. He sprints and drops to his knees in front of his son, who flings himself into Yuuri’s arms; body shuddering staccato. 

“All over now, sunshine,” he whispers, stroking a hand through sweat-damp hair. “I’m going to call Uncle Phichit, and we’ll go stay at his house for a while,”

“I-I d-don’t want to go ou-ou-outsid-de,” Yuri sobs harder, breath grating hard like an untuned violin.

“There’s nothing to be sc-”

“He _might still be there_! He might be hiding!” Yuri screams, beating his fist against Yuuri’s back “I won’t! I won’t I won’t I w-”

Yuuri wants to cry too. He wants to hide. But he can’t, not while Yuri needs him. Not right now.

“Okay, love- no, Yuri, listen to me, please- I’m going to call Mikhail, and he’ll drop us at Phichit’s. We won’t go alone.” Yuuri says firmly. “I don’t want to stay anywhere where he could find us, okay? Papa’s going to pack your stuff. Lie down in bed. I’m going to be right here with you,”

“B-”

“I know this is scary, sunshine. I know, but you’re my brave boy. Be brave for just a little longer?” Yuuri pleads, picking him up and carrying him to the bedroom. He places him carefully on the bed. Yuri scoops up his old stuffed lion, buries his face in its tufty orange mane. 

“Okay,” Yuri whispers, high and reedy, strings plucked. 

___________________

Yuuri Katsuki: Hey, thanks for dropping us at Phichit’s last night. Having you there really made Yuri a lot more comfortable.

Mikhail Baranovsky: no worries!!! that’s wahtat friends are forn :D

Mikhail Baranovsky: are you goin tp press charges?

_seen_

___________________

Phichit and Yuuri haven’t shared a bed since Yuuri left Detroit for St Petersburg. Yuri’s huddled under Yuuri’s arm, sleeping face bathed gold in dawn light. 

Yuuri hasn’t slept a wink since they’d got to the flat, cold night air under their collars. 

“This could swing the whole thing in your favour, Yuuri! Why are you so hesitant?” Phichit whispers fiercely. 

“I know ju-I don’t want this to be any more dramatic than it has to be. I don’t want more people showing up at our door,” Yuuri sighs.

“That’s a risk y-”

“I know! Phichit, I know- but you don’t fucking understand how scary that was. I though-I thought,” Yuuri chokes “I seriously thought t-that he was going to try something!”

Yuri stirs. They both freeze, but the boy just snuggles further into Yuuri’s chest. Yuri had finally cried himself to sleep. Yuuri would rather have his teeth pulled than wake him now.

There’s a beat. The only sound is the tense hum of Yuuri’s heartbeat in his ears.

Phichit pulls them both closer, careful not to jog Yuri too much. His eyes are warm and apologetic. “Sorry. I freaked. I wasn’t thinking.” Phichit says after a while, voice soft, tone softer. Yuuri feels his mouth tug into a smile. “It’s okay,” he replies, squeezes them both tight. Sometimes he forgets how young Phichit really is. 

___________________________

“So,” Lilia says with a frown “Victor showed up at your house, drunk. At two AM.”

“Yes?” Yuuri winces at the curl of displeasure that mars Lilia’s face.

“Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

“I just- I needed to get Yuri out of the house,” Yuuri says, staring hard at the shiny desk. They’re in Lilia’s office. Yuri’s watching a movie about some girl with a pig nose with Mikhail, who had turned up at Phichit’s house with a sheepish grin and a chocolate bar. (“Mum wants you at her office, stat,” he said, gesturing at the gleaming Ferrari behind him. Passers-by are stopping to gape.)

“Your piece of shit building manager is saying that there’s no CCTV footage. I’m betting that Yakov paid him off. We could have taken out a restraining order against him, Yuuri. This could have swung the whole thing in our favour.”

“I know! I know, but I was so scared , and-and I couldn’t think about anything else,”

Lilia takes a long look at him, then sighs. 

“Where are you staying?”

“Phichit’s h-”

“No you’re not,” Lilia says, tapping away at her laptop “you’re staying at the Hilton.”

“Wha-”

“I defended one of the higher-ups, I stay there for free for as long as I want. It’s not far from the ballet- stop gawking, it’s unattractive- your audition is the day after tomorrow, right? You’re in an executive suite, so plenty of room for both of you,” 

“Am I ever going to stop owing you?” Yuuri laughs incredulously, little light headed all of a sudden. 

Lilia smirks. “Depends,” she says, and pours him a cup of tea. The sweet smell of orange fills his lungs. Everything seems momentarily brighter.

________________________

**@perezhilton**

A reliable source reports everyone’s favourite Russian hunk drunk in a car by his lawyer, Yakov Feltsman. Who knows what @therealninkiforov has been up to?

________________________

 _I’m never going to stop owing this woman_ , Yuuri thinks again as he gawks (unnattractive, says Lilia’s voice) at the penthouse. It looks like a billionaire’s bedroom: massive four-poster bed complete with gauzy curtains and masses of pillows, carpets plush, flat screen TV gleaming on the wall. Yuri’s splashing around in the jacuzzi. (“Make sure you wash your hair!” “I don-” “Yuri,” “Okay, okay,”). 

Yuuri leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window. It’s nighttime, St Petersburg lights spiderwebbing orange-red-yellow-white through the darkness. He can see the whole city from here, cars crawling like ants along the emptying streets; people lumbering from one bar to another. Six months ago his son would catnap on their sofa as Yuuri tried his best to shut their windows against the cold. Today Yuri will lie in Egyptian sheets that cost more than their bed, but they will not rest. _Life is strange,_ Yuuri thinks as he stares at the ceiling, Yuri stiff and sleepless at his side.

________________________

Hamsterboi: hi papa this is yurin sorry i didnt wake up when you left today, good luck at rehearsal i love you lots =^.^=

Yuuri Katsuki: Don’t apologise, sunshine! You did nothing wrong! Have fun with Uncle Phichit! I love you too <3 

____________

“Phichit told me you didn’t eat anything today,” Yuuri says the next night. Yuuri’d ordered him pizza and Yuri had picked all the toppings off of his slice then declared it cold, running into the shower before Yuuri could argue. Yuuri had spent all day at rehearsal and then an extra few hours for a last consultation with a junior choreographer. His muscles ache and his body is exhausted, but his mind is on lockdown, alarm bells blaring. 

“I wasn’t hungry,” Yuri mumbles “sleepy now.” 

Yuuri sighs, watching his son fake deep, even breaths. Yuri doesn’t eat when he’s truly worried and loses weight fast, cheeks hollowing and legs matchstick-thin. The image of skin pulled tight over a tiny ribcage is branded onto Yuuri’s eyelids. He rolls over, face-down in the pillow, the ebb and flow of his thoughts becoming a tidal wave. The audition tomorrow. Victor. Yuri not eating. The world crests and curls around him, a mess of colour surging into his vision even in the darkness. He flips over again, sputters for air like he’s being held under shallow water. 

“It’s okay, Papa! It’s okay! I-”

Yuuri shakes and shudders and is swept under the flood.

___________________

Hamsterboi: hey how was your audition?

Yuuri Kastudon: :/

Hamsterboi: that means ‘i cant think of anything that went wrong but im doubting myself anyway’

Yuuri Katsudon ://

Yuuri Katsudon: I’m on my way back. Did Yuri eat properly?

Hamsterboi: ...not really

___________________

Victor wakes up with a banging headache and a mouth that tastes like a sticky nightclub floor.

He’s lying on the sofa in Yakov’s office, dried saliva crusted on the black suede. His whole body burns, but the memory of what he did _sears._

Drinking and trying to break into his son’s flat.

Victor wants to laugh-cry-scream. Being dragged away from the flat, a child having a tantrum, pale hands bruised like a field of violets, blood trickling rose-red down his arm. Georgi’s disappointed face floats through his head. _Why do you keep doing this to yourself?_

“I see you’re awake,” a gruff voice says. 

“Yakov,” Victor shoots bolt upright “Yakov, please-”

“I sorted it,” Yakov’s words are short and snappy, but Victor tears up with relief. He lies back once more, face pressed hard against a cushion.

“Thank God,” he whispers into the fabric “Thank God.”

“That doesn’t mean it can happen again,” Yakov grouches, slamming a glass of water on the side table “make sure it doesn’t,”  


Victor can’t bring himself to say anything.

_Why do you keep doing this to yourself?_

_Why do you keep doing this to yourself?_

_________________

Celestino Cialdani (ccialdani@mariinsky.com) 

It is my pleasure to cast you as Hippolyta in our upcoming production. Please find the attached rehearsal schedule.

Thanks and congrats, 

CC 

_______________

 **@perezhilton**  
LET THE BATTLE COMMENCE? The dancer v the model: is the fight for Yuri Plisetsky starting ? **Read more**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY WE'RE GETTING TO THE GOOD BIT  
> love you all <3  
> EDIT:  
> [A PRETTY PRETTY MOODBOARD ](http://criticaysabotaje.tumblr.com/post/161184536438/another-board-this-time-its-for)BY @criticaysabotaje
> 
> [follow me on tungl!](https://icanhinatashouyoutheworld.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Moments Between](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861806) by [Glass_O_Lemonade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_O_Lemonade/pseuds/Glass_O_Lemonade)




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